AMERICANS  ALL 


JOHN  MEKRITTE  DRIVER 


THE 


•  • 


A 


AMERICANS  ALL 


AMERICANS    ALL 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  GREAT  WAR 


BY 

JOHN  MERRITTE  DRIVER 


CHICAGO 

FORBES  &  COMPANY 
1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BT 
FOBBES  &  COMPANY 


DEDICATED  TO 

The  memory  of  those 

who  followed  the  banners  of 

Grant  and  Lee, — 

Americans  all, 

Equally  brave,  equally  patriotic, 
equally  conscientious. 


FOREWORD 

WHILE  this  book  is  a  novel  and  not  a  history,  the 
author  has  introduced  some  historical  personages  and 
has  aimed  to  portray  them  faithfully  and  with  impartiality 
to  the  conflicting  issues  they  represented.  In  his  pen  por 
traits  of  Lincoln  and  analyses  of  his  unique  character  the 
author  has  been  aided  by  the  memories  of  his  father,  who 
was  a  friend  of  Lincoln.  During  the  last  years  of  Jefferson 
Davis'  life  the  author  was  one  of  his  inner  circle  of  friends 
and  he  has  drawn  on  his  own  recollections  in  portraying 
the  great  but  ill-starred  Cavalier. 

"It  was  thus  I  knew  Jefferson  Davis,"  the  author  says,  "a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago ;  I  a  young  and  ardent  collegian ;  he 
still  surrounded  by  the  slaves  and  their  descendants  who  had 
scorned  to  accept  the  freedom  proffered  by  the  Emancipa 
tion  Proclamation;  he  still  the  high-souled  aristocrat  and 
cavalier,  dignified  and  stately  as  any  prince-royal,  with 
moral  character  unscathed,  and  with  all  the  sweet  gentle 
ness  and  simplicity  of  a  child. 

"I  last  saw  him  one  day  at  noon.  The  morning  had  been 
spent  in  his  library,  in  his  garden,  and  in  driving  together  over 
his  plantation,  holding  high  discourse  concerning  God,  eter 
nity,  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  Lunch  had  been  served 
on  the  south  veranda  overlooking  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and 
afar  the  green  isles  of  the  Southern  Seas.  A  colored  servi 
tor  stood  behind  each  chair,  as  in  the  'good  old  days,'  and 
a  large  bouquet  of  sweet  Southern  roses  graced  the  center 
of  the  table.  The  carriage  that  was  to  bear  me  to  the  sta 
tion  was  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  veranda-steps.  With  all 


FOBEWOBD 

the  dignity  of  a  Roman  senator,  Mr.  Davis  arose  and  took 
my  hand,  his  other  hand  resting  on  my  shoulder,  and  gently 
said:  'Good-bye — good-bye,  my  friend!  And  may  the 
good  God  ever  have  you  in  His  keeping,  and  speed  you  in 
your  quest !  And  my  best  wishes  to  your  people,  and  to  all 
the  people  of  the  North ;  and  to  the  great  American  Union : 
Peace,  Prosperity,  and  Perpetuity !'  " 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     A  Festal  Night  in  the  Mexic  Capitol 15 

II.     Unique  Southern  Illinois.    The  Culpeppers.  26 

III.  Love  and  Politics.     Fair  Marjorie 38 

IV.  Conspiracy.    The  Dreaded  Provost-Marshal  53 

V.     The  Davis  Emissary.    Virginia  Lee 

Culpepper   67 

VI.     Lincoln's  Two  Friends  Hors  du  Combat. . .  78 

VII.     Samuel   Simonson  the  Guest  of  Abraham 

Lincoln  87 


VIII.     The  Spy— A  Party— An  Angel  in  White 

Marjorie    104 

IX.     Conscience  Scourged — An  Uproar  in  New 

Richmond   123 

X.     A  Clever  Scheme.    The  Young  Lawyer  In 
vited  to  The  Elms 138 

XI.     Quoth  Polly,  "I  Want  a  Cracker";  Quoth 

Vergie,  "So  Do  I." 154 

XII.     Defections — Gildersleeve,  Goldbeck,  Harold 

Culpepper   170 

XIII.     The   Old    South   and   the    New.      Passion 

Baffled  185 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIV.     The    Young    Lawyer    Lincoln's    Guest    at 

Washington  208 

XV.     The  Calm  Before  the  Storm.    Vergie  Cul- 

pepper  Again , 225 

XVI.     An  Evening  at  Joel  Levering's 238 

XVII.     Secret    Societies    in    Southern    Illinois.     A 

Pilgrimage 254 

XVIII.     Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle.    A  Wild  Mid 
night  Ride  269 

XIX.     Hugh    Grant    and    the    Recruiting  Officer. 

Logan   284 

XX.     Logan's  Speech  at  New  Richmond 298 

XXI.     Halcyon    Days    of    Love.      A    Searching 

Enquiry    313 

XXII.     The  Mob  at  The  Elms.    Simonson  Shot  by 

Rod  Clarke 328 

XXIII.  Vows  and  Maiden  Fancies.    Death  of  Char 

lotte  Culpepper 343 

XXIV.  Twixt  Love  and  Duty.     Battle  of  Chicka- 

mauga 360 

XXV.    At  Missionary  Ridge  and  Lookout  Moun 
tain.    A  Prisoner 374 

XXVI.     Vergie  Culpepper  in  Richmond.    Meets  the 

Young  Lawyer  388 

XXVII.    Dr.  Culpepper  at  Richmond.    Vergie's  Sore 

Trial   406 

XXVIII.    Vergie's  Absolution  from  Vow  Made  to  Her 

Mother  421 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIX.     Harold   Culpepper   Escapes.     Marries   and 

Writes  a  Letter 437 

XXX.     Vergie  Leaves  Richmond.    Simonson  Again 

in  Libby  Prison 450 

XXXI.     Marjorie.    Virginia  Lee.    Elaine  Veronica.  464 

XXXII.     A    Mysterious    Love.      Simonson's    Flight 

from  Richmond 478 

XXXIII.  Fall   of   Richmond.     The   Young  Lawyer 

Sentenced  to  Death 491 

XXXIV.  Solution  of  Mystery.     Wedding  Bells.     A 

Night  in  Paris 520 


AMERICANS  ALL 

CHAPTER  I 

A   FESTAL   NIGHT   IN    THE    MEXIC    CAPITOL 

IT  was  a  perfect  September  night.  Winds,  soft  and 
aromatic,  blew  gently;  and  the  floral  and  arboreal 
world  seemed  to  be  en  fete.  For  two  days  it  had  been 
raining  constantly,  with  occasional  electrical  storms,  but 
now  the  skies  were  radiant,  crystalline.  Plazas,  parks,  and 
gardens  were  riotous  with  color,  the  air  vibrant  and  a-rippie 
with  laughter,  while  music — perfume  of  the  flowers  of 
speech,  incense  rising  from  the  fires  of  glowing  passion — 
added  lilt  and  gaiety  to  the  pleasure-loving  throng. 

"The  Mexican  Capitol  is  in  chains" — so  read  Santa  Anna's 
Proclamation — yet  never  was  freer,  or  more  blithe  and 
insouciance.  What  though  plain  and  mountain-pass  were 
crimson  with  Aztec,  Mexic,  and  Spanish  blood ;  what  though 
every  strategic  town  and  city — Vera  Cruz,  Cerro  Gordo. 
Jalapa,  Perota,  Pueblo,  Contreras,  Churubusco,  Molino  del 
Rey,  and  the  Capitol  itself — was  in  the  hands  of  the  Invader ; 
what  though  Washington  was  plotting  to  rob  them  of  their 
sovereignty  and  make  them  vassals;  what  though  the  Con 
queror's  uniform  was  everywhere  in  evidence,  and  the 
Palace  of  the  Montezumas  had  become  El  Palacio  del  Amer 
icano  ;  what  though  troops  were  to  leave  at  dawn  to  garrison 
every  principal  city,  and  to  extort  tribute  from  every  luck 
less  citizen — by  the  fires  of  persecution  to  extract  golden  oil 

15 


16  AMERICANS  ALL 

from  every  fin  and  scale  of  the  giant  Mexic  "fish?"  Ah,  the 
To-day  Race!  What  matter  for  To-morrow?  Vivamos 
mientras  que  vivimos;  manana  sera  otro  dia.* 

The  Montezuman  city  was  captive — yet  free.  It  was  the 
policy  of  Polk,  though  opposed  by  Webster  and  Calhoun, 
to  take  their  territory  by  force,  and  their  hearts  by  stealth. 
To  this  end  the  iron  hand  was  sheathed  in  perfumed  velvet ; 
the  stern  command  metred  and  set  to  music ;  the  blast  of  the 
cornet,  and  the  shriek  of  the  trumpet  mellowed  to  the  coo 
of  the  thrush-like  piccolo  and  clarionet — and  the  policy  was 
working  like  a  charm. 

The  ball — unique,  spectacular,  brilliant,  given  at  the  palace 
of  the  illustrious  Fernando  y  Roxas — was  over.  There  are 
few  such  cases  on  record — conquerors  garlanded  and 
accorded  festal  hospitality  by  the  conquered.  But,  person 
ally,  the  conquerors  had  been  kind  and  considerate;  and 
War,  usually  devastating,  in  this  instance  had  been  enrich 
ing — had  brought  a  multitude  of  opulent  purchasers,  at 
hitherto  undreamed  of  prices,  of  all  they  had  to  sell. 

Indeed  the  conquered  were  less  serious  than  the  con 
querors,  for  the  Northern  skies  were  ominous  with  the  dark 
clouds  and  angry  rumblings  of  an  impending  conflict  between 
the  "States,"  a  conflict  upon  which  this  "invasion"  might 
have  a  fateful  bearing — but  for  the  hour  apprehension  was 
flung  to  the  wind,  and  merry  jest  and  good-natured  badinage 
reigned  supreme. 

Among  the  American  guests  at  the  ball  was  General 
Scott,  who  called  early,  arrayed  in  all  the  military  trappings 
of  which  he  was  inordinately  fond,  accompanied  by  a  bril 
liant  retinue  of  officers.  Among  them  were  some  destined 
to  great  renown — both  eulogy  and  obloquy :  Captain  Robert 
E.  Lee — tall,  graceful,  low-voiced,  easily  the  handsomest, 


*Let  us  lire  while  we  live;  tomorrow  there  will  be  another  day. 


A  FESTAL  NIGHT  17 

and  most  eagerly-sought  by  men  and  women  alike;  Col. 
Jefferson  Davis — tall,  stately,  a  profound  scholar,  singu 
larly  eloquent,  a  trifle  haughty,  with  a  culture  equal  to  that 
of  the  proudest  grandee  of  Spain;  Major  Beauregard— of 
Latin  descent,  of  warrior  training  and  prowess,  keen  of  wit 
and  repartee,  a  Beau  Brummel  in  social  intercourse,  an 
unsurpassed  raconteur,  and  destined  to  fire  the  first  gun  in 
the  Rebellion  of  the  States.  Also  four  generals  were  pres 
ent:  Pillow,  Quitman,  Buckner,  and  Crittenden — in  char 
acter  and  bravery  worthy  of  the  epaulettes  they  wore ;  also 
Captains  Hardee  and  Holmes,  and  Lieutenants  Gardner  and 
Ewell. 

No  less  conspicuous  were  certain  others :  Captain  John  A. 
Logan — stocky,  swarthy,  fearless,  boisterous,  long,  straight 
black  hair,  eagle-eyed,  suggestive  of  the  Incas;  Captain 
Kearney — favorite  of  General  Scott,  first  to  enter  Mexico 
City,  hero  of  the  Algerine  War,  feted  in  Paris,  destined 
to  die  at  Chantilly ;  Lieut.  George  G.  Meade — heir  to  laudit 
and  censure  at  Gettysburg,  losing  by  lack  of  generalship 
what  he  had  won  by  preponderance  of  numbers ;  Lieutenant 
McClellan — marching  on  to  immeasurable  praise  and  dis 
praise,  but  now  at  his  best,  easily  the  equal  of  Lee  and  Davis 
and  Beauregard  in  culture,  gentility,  and  all  the  charms  of 
social  grace ;  also— U.  S.  GRANT. 

After  paying  his  respects  to  Senor  and  Senora  Roxas 
Captain  Grant  spoke  to  no  one;  nor  did  any  of  the  gay 
revelers  speak  to  him.  In  a  retired  alcove  he  smoked  cigar 
after  cigar,  mused  in  silence,  and  took  note  of  things  and — 
men.  No  one,  not  even  the  gracious  host  and  hostess,  paid 
any  attention  to  him.  There  was  no  halo  about  his  head. 
There  was  no  lilting,  vaulting,  dazzling  epigram  or  dithy 
ramb  on  his  lips.  There  was  no  psychic  intuition  on  their 
part,  or  intimation  on  his,  of  his  future.  Not  even  Davis' 


18  AMERICANS  ALL 

attention  was  arrested;  Lee's  horoscope  gave  no  hint  of 
Appomattox. 

The  master  of  their  destinies  was  there  but  they  knew 
him  not. 

After  the  ball  the  American  officers  dropped  in  at  a  fash 
ionable  pulqueria,  most  of  them  ordering  aguardiente — the 
night  was  chill ;  besides,  the  American  palate  rebelled  against 
the  national  drink.  They  were  in  high  fettle  and,  after  a 
little  general  joking  and  jesting,  and  apropos  of  nothing, 
Logan  boomed, 

"What's  to  be  the  outcome  of  all  this  damned  nonsense  ?" 

Apparently  he  was  addressing  Major  Jackson,  afterward 
revered  by  the  soubriquet  of  "Stonewall,"  and  even  now 
noted  for  his  austere  piety. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Captain  ?"  It  was  the  low  voice  of 
Beauregard.  Logan's  brusquerie  was  immensely  amusing 
to  the  suave  and  polished  Southerner. 

"Oh,  all  this  damned  highway  robbery  down  here  in 
Mexico.  As  for  me  I  feel  like  a  blasted  brigand.  What 
right  have  we  down  here,  anyway?" 

"Why,  Captain,  we're  here  to — but  don't  you  remember? 
President  Polk  puts  it  in  less  than  a  dozen  words:  'The 
grievous  wrongs  perpetrated  by  Mexico  upon  our  citizens/ 
There,  Captain,  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell."  It  was  McClellan 
speaking,  and  in  a  manner  to  egg  Logan  on. 

"Oh,  hell!  Look  here,  gentlemen "  but  Black  Jack 

was  too  wrathy  to  trust  himself  farther  and  strode  from 
the  room. 

"But  see  here,  Captain  McClellan,"  said  General  Quitman 
of  Mississippi,  "you've  quoted  President  Polk  glibly  enough 
but  what  does  Tom  Cor  win,  of  Ohio,  say?" 

"I  don't  recall  any  speech  of  Corwin's,  General ;  doubtless 
it  was  something  very  pious,  however,  and  exceedingly  calm 
and  conservative."  McClellan  was  in  high  glee. 


A  FESTAL  NIGHT  19 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Corwin  said,  'If  I  were  a  Mexican 
I  would  say  to  you,  have  you  not  room  in  your  own  country 
to  bury  your  dead  men?  If  you  come  into  mine  we  will 
greet  you  with  bloody  hands,  and  welcome  you  to  hospitable 
graves.'  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"Did  Corwin  say  that,  Quitman?"  It  was  the  first  time 
Grant  had  spoken. 

"Certainly." 

"And  you  indorse  it?" 

"As  a  gentleman,  yes — why  not?" 

"Oh,  nothing."  Grant  had  already  resumed  his  cigar,  and 
lapsed  into  silence. 

The  night  had  grown  very  chill.  A  peon  closed  the  door. 
Through  a  window  came  contagious  sounds  of  mirth  and 
joy.  A  silvery  voice,  clear  and  high,  sang  a  passionate 
song: 

*' '  Were  I  a  god,  I  'd  give — the  air, 
Earth,  and  the  Sea;  the  angels  fair; 
The  Skies;  the  golden  Worlds  around; 
The  demons  whom  my  laws  have  bound; 
Chaos  and  its  dark  progeny; 
All  Space  and  all  Eternity 

For  one  love-kiss  from  thee!  " 

There  was  the  rattle  of  homeward-bound  carriage-wheels 
on  the  pavement  without.  Somebody  upset  a  chair,  and  a 
tipsy  reveler  dropped  his  wine-glass  on  the  marble  floor. 

Every  face  was  turned,  inquiringly,  to  Col.  Jefferson 
Davis,  somewhat  on  account  of  his  high  character,  great 
wealth,  peerless  social  position,  and  the  prestige  of  being 
General  Taylor's  son-in-law,  and  now  the  husband  of  the 
granddaughter  of  one  of  New  Jersey's  most  gifted  gov 
ernors;  but  mainly  because  he  was  fresh  from  the  halls  of 

*  Victor  Hugo. 


20  AMERICANS  ALL 

Congress,  and  but  recently  had  been  the  fiery  and  fearless 
Tom  Corwin's  colleague. 

"You  would  not  be  offended,  would  you,  Colonel  Davis," 
said  Lieutenant  Meade,  "were  I  to  turn  inquisitor  for  a 
moment?" 

"I  cannot  conceive  of  any  question,  Lieutenant  Meade,  I 
would  not  gladly  answer,  provided  I  were  able  to  do  so." 

"Thank  you,  Colonel  Davis.  Then  what  is  the  ultimate 
purpose  of  the  South?" 

Colonel  Davis  laughed.  "Really,  Lieutenant  Meade,  I'm 
better  qualified  to  speak  regarding  the  trend  and  temper  of 
the  North.  I'm  a  Kentuckian,  you  know,  born  at  Hopkins- 
ville — and  that's  pretty  far  North.  Then  you  must  remem 
ber  I  have  spent  eleven  years  in  the  extreme  North — New 
York,  Northern  Missouri,  Northern  Illinois,  Iowa,  Wiscon 
sin,  and  Minnesota.  But  if  you'll  be  a  little  more  specific 
I'll  be  obliged  to  you" — with  a  deferential  inclination  of  his 
head. 

"Very  well,  Colonel  Davis.  Is  it  the  ambition  of  the  South 
to  annex  the  whole  of  Mexico?  And  to  transform  these 
twenty  or  thirty  Mexican  provinces  into  as  many  American 
Slave  States?  And,  upon  the  assumption  that  such  is  the 
ambition  of  the  South,  where  does  Colonel  Davis  stand — 
with  Tom  Corwin,  or  with  President  Polk?" 

Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  thin,  grave,  intellectual  face 
of  Colonel  Davis;  and  that  no  word  of  his  reply  should 
escape  them  chairs  were  instinctively  drawn  closer  together. 
Captain  Grant  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  McClellan  and 
Kearney  smiled  at  each  other  as  they  simultaneously  placed 
their  open  palms  behind  their  ears.  Hardee  and  Crittenden 
inclined  their  heads,  and  Beauregard,  waving  his  hand  at 
Pillow  and  Buckner,  helped  himself  to  another  brandy- 
soda. 

"As  to  the  purpose  of  the   President,"   Colonel   Davis 


A  FESTAL  NIGHT 


slowly  said,  "I  think  there's  no  doubt  but  he  intends  to 
acquire  and  annex,  if  possible,  the  whole  of  Mexico." 

"And  the  South—  is  it  with  him?" 

"You  forget,  gentlemen,  that  Mr.  Calhoun,  the  greatest 
man  in  the  South,  is  violently  opposed." 

"And—  you?" 

"Well,  I'm  a  soldier  rather  than  a  statesman.  The  term 
'politician/  as  now  used,  I  detest.  But  if  my  personal 
views,  however  inconsequential,  are  desired,  I  should  not 
hesitate  to  give  them  —  and  all  the  more  since  we  are  all 
soldiers  and  gentlemen." 

"In  the  first  place,"  continued  Colonel  Davis,  "I  am  an 
Expansionist.  I  believe  that  Nature  and  Destiny  have 
decreed  that  our  sovereignty  should  extend  from  ocean  to 
ocean,  and  from  yonder  narrow  strip  of  land  to  the  South, 
where  we  ought  to,  and  presently  shall,  wed  the  two  great 
oceans,  to  the  North  Pole.  I  would  preempt  for  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  every  foot  of  North  America,  by  diplo 
macy  if  possible,  by  war  if  necessary.  There  should  be  no 
line  of  separation  North  or  South,  East  or  West  —  and  no 
divided  sovereignty.  Personally,  therefore,  I  would  annex 
Mexico,  the  States  of  Central  America,  the  Islands  of  the 
Southern  Seas,  and  everything  northward  to  the  axis  of 
the  Earth." 

"For  the  sake  of  Slavery,  Colonel  Davis?"  Captain 
Kearney  had  spoken. 

"No,  Captain  Kearney;  for  the  sake  of  the  martyrs  who 
shed  their  blood  all  the  way  from  Lexington  and  Concord  to 
New  Orleans  and  Puget  Sound  ;  for  the  sake  of  the  patriots 
and  heroes  who  hazarded  and  suffered  everything  that  our 
independence  might  be  achieved,  and  the  foundation  of  our 
Government  might  be  rightly  and  righteously  laid  ;  for  the 
sake  of  the  better  government  and  purer  religion  we  could 
give;  that  Caucasian,  Anglo-Saxon  Democracy  —  I  speak  in 


22  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  broad  sense  of  the  term — and  Civilization  might  be 
assured  of  perpetuity." 

Colonel  Davis  had  spoken  with  great  earnestness,  sol 
emnity  even,  and  his  auditors  were  visibly  affected. 

"But,  Colonel  Davis,"  inquired  Captain  R.  E.  Lee,  "how 
could  we  maintain  the  unity,  and  secure  a  safe  and  stable 
administration  of  a  government  covering  such  a  vast  terri 
tory,  and  containing  such  a  heterogenous  population?" 

"I  have  given  much  thought  to  that  question,  Captain  Lee. 
However,  we  now  reckon  distance  by  time  rather  than  space. 
Hence  I  would  annihilate  distance  by  speedy  communication, 
granting  government  aid  for  the  building  of  a  great  rail 
road  from  the  Pacific  Coast  to  some  central  point  east  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains ;  then  two  converging  lines,  one  per 
haps  to  Memphis,  the  other,  say  to  St.  Joseph,  Missouri,  to 
connect  with  roads  stretching  away  in  every  direction  to  the 
Atlantic  Coast.  In  the  same  manner  I  would  connect  Chi 
cago  with  Mexico,  Central  America,  and  the  inevitable  inter- 
oceanic  canal  at  Panama.  Private  enterprise  would  doubt 
less  build  railroads  from  Chicago  direct  to  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  and  from  New  York  to  New  Orleans — likewise 
from  Chicago  north,  north-east,  north-west,  to  the  most 
distant  settlements  on  both  oceans,  and  even  to  points  within 
the  Arctic  Circle — territory  rich  with  fertile  soil,  vast  for 
ests,  invaluable  fauna  and  flora,  immense  deposits  of  coal 
and  iron,  and,  possibly,  the  precious  metals,  silver  and 
gold." 

"You  have  heard,  Colonel  Davis,  of  a  man  named 
Lincoln?" 

"Yes,"  indifferently.  "A  member,  I  believe,  of  the  Lower 
House." 

"And  the  New  England  Abolitionists?" 

"Yes,"  with  a  humorous  smile. 

"Now,  Colonel  Davis,"  asked  Lieutenant  McClellan,  "sup- 


A  FESTAL  NIGHT  23 

pose  Mexico,  Central  America,  and  all  the  rest,  were  to 
succeed  in  maintaining  their  territorial  entity,  and  were  to 
decline  to  be  benevolently  assimilated,  so  that  no  new  Slave 
territory  could  be  annexed,  and  the  Abolitionists  were  to 
multiply  till  they  were  able  to  enact  Universal  Emancipa 
tion — what  then?  Would  Colonel  Davis  follow  Calhoun 
and  Toombs  into  the  Secession  camp,  or  stand  with  Corwin 
and  Adams?" 

"Is  this  a  hypothetical  question?" 
"Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Captain  Hardee. 
"But  you  gentlemen  are  merely  jesting." 
"To  the  contrary,  Colonel  Davis,  we  are  most  serious." 
"Then  I  will  answer  you.    While  revering  Mr.  Calhoun 
boundlessly,  I  do  not  always  agree  with  him.    For  instance," 
continued  Colonel  Davis,  "Mr.  Calhoun  is  an  out-and-out 
free-trader — I  am  not.     Theoretically  I  am  a  free-trader, 
but  practically  I  am  a  protectionist.    I  am  now  advising  my 
Southern  friends  to  turn  from  agriculture  to  manufacturing, 
and  thus  beat  New  England  at  her  own  game.    Again,  Mr. 
Calhoun  is  a  Secessionist — I  am  a  Nullificationist,  but  not 
a  Secessionist." 

"We  do  not  quite  understand,  Colonel  Davis,"  was  cho 
rused.  "Please  explain." 

"Simply  this:  by  a  sort  of  state  index  and  referendum, 
taken  as  a  proposed  Amendment  to  the  National  Consti 
tution  and  submitted  to  the  several  states,  a  law  might  be 
nullified  in  a  given  state,  by  and  with  the  consent  of  the 
sister  states,  without  said  state  withdrawing,  or  being 
expelled,  from  the  Union.  For  instance,  the  protective  tariff 
is  a  good  law  for  manufacturing  Massachusetts  while  it  is 
a  curse  to  agricultural  Mississippi.  By  nullification,  were 
Congress  to  enact  it,  Mississippi  could  appeal  to  the  sister 
Sovereign  States  for  exemption  from  'Protection.'  Their 
acquiescence  would  nullify  it  in  Mississippi  but  leave  it 


24  AMERICANS  ALL 

operative  in  all  the  other  Commonwealths.  Should  the  sister 
states  decline  to  grant  the  petition,  with  all  the  facts  before 
them,  then  the  law  would  remain  operative  in  Mississippi, 
as  in  the  other  states.  Thus  you  see,  gentlemen,  while  I 
am  a  Nullificationist  I  am  also  a  thorough-going  and  uncom 
promising  Unionist.  Oh,  no,  territorially  I  stand  for  addi 
tion,  multiplication,  enlargement,  and  not  for  division,  with 
drawal,  or  segregation,  as  I  have  told  Mr.  Calhoun  many 
times." 

"But  suppose,"  persisted  Lieutenant  McClellan,  "an  Abo 
lition  Congress,  backed  by  Abolition  States,  should,  willy- 
nilly,  by  Statute  and  Constitutional  Amendment,  emancipate 
the  slaves,  and  were  to  make  slave-holding  a  felony;  and 
upon  the  resistance  of  the  South  should  send  armies  into  the 
South  to  compel  submission  and  obedience;  and  the  South, 
enraged  by  what  it  would  certainly  regard  as  an  unwarrant 
able  infringement  of  their  Constitutional  rights,  were  to 
secede  from  the  Union — what  then  ?" 

'This,  Lieutenant  McClellan,  is  an  unimaginable  hypothe 
sis.  You  are  putting  up  a  man  of  straw  for  me  to  knock 
down.  This  vile  brandy  has  gone  to  our  heads."  Colonel 
Davis  was  laughing,  but  his  auditors  were  not. 

"You  are  indulging  in  the  craziest  of  conjectures,"  con 
tinued  Colonel  Davis.  "Of  course  the  Sovereign  States 
have  the  right,  under  the  Constitution,  to  withdraw  from 
the  Union,  but  no  state  will  ever  do  it.  An  Abolition  Con 
gress  could  pass  an  Emancipation  act  but  would  never  do 
it,  for  every  member  would  know  that  such  a  law  would  be 
both  unconstitutional  and  unenforceable." 

"But  suppose,  suppose,"  broke  in  Captain  Kearney,  "an 
army  of  invasion  should  swoop  down  on  you  from  the 
North !" 

"An  army  of  invasion,  did  you  say?"  Colonel  Davis 
looked  up  sharply,  his  face  suddenly  flushing.  "An  army  of 


A  FESTAL  NIGHT  25 

invasion?  Then  in  the  language  of  your  true-blue  North 
erner,  Tom  Corwin,  'We  will  greet  you  with  bloody  hands, 
and  welcome  you  to  hospitable  graves! 

"But,  gentlemen,  you  are  only  romancing.  The  fumes 
of  this  strong  aguardiente  have  set  our  brains  to  weaving 
fantastic  gruesome  fancies.  I  am  predominantly  a  North 
erner  :  of  Kentucky  by  birth,  of  New  York  by  education,  of 
New  Jersey  by  marriage,  of  Massachusetts  by  nearest  and 
dearest  ties,  of  Pennsylvania  as  the  former  home  of  my 
father,  of  Missouri,  Illinois,  Iowa,  Wisconsin,  and  Minnesota 
by  long  years  of  arduous  but  happy  service  in  the  Federal 
Army.  Many  of  my  closest  friends  are  non-slaveholding 
Northerners.  We  have  a  common  possession,  a  priceless 
heritage:  the  most  beautiful  Flag,  the  most  glorious  Coun 
try,  the  wisest  and  noblest  Constitution,  and  the  humanest 
and  most  enlightened  laws.  Gentlemen,"  rising  and  holding 
his  wine-glass,  "I  have  the  honor  to  propose  this  simple 
but  heartfelt  toast : 

"Pro  Patria  Nostra — For  Our  Country." 

As  they  passed  out  to  the  street  Colonel  Davis  walked 
arm  in  arm  with  Captain  Turney.  They  had  been  fellow- 
cadets  at  West  Point,  and  had  soldiered  together  in  the 
North-West.  Had  they  been  brothers  they  could  not  have 
been  fonder  of  each  other. 

"Any  word  yet,  Captain?" 

"None,  Colonel." 

Silently  they  wrung  each  others'  hands  and  parted.  No 
explanation  was  necessary. 


CHAPTER  II 

UNIQUE   SOUTHERN    ILLINOIS.      THE   CULPEPPERS 

0  OUTHERN  ILLINOIS,  down  to  the  War,  was  ardently 
O  loyal  to  the  two  Jeffersons — Thomas  Jefferson  and 
Jefferson  Davis — and  to  the  ideas  and  ideals  of  the  South ; 
and  consequently  was  sharply  differentiated  from  the  north 
ern  half  of  the  State. 

Northern  Illinois  had  been  peopled  from  Ohio,  Pennsyl 
vania,  New  York,  and  New  England — Southern  Illinois 
from  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  Virginia,  Georgia,  and  the  Caro- 
linas.  This  was  startlingly  noticeable  during  the  Lincoln- 
Douglas  Debate  in  '58,  the  Northern  audiences  going  wild 
over  Lincoln,  the  Southern  almost  deifying  Douglas. 

Agriculturally,  educationally,  and  commercially  the  North 
ern  section  had  the  advantage.  The  best  blood  of  the  New- 
World  renaissance,  that  already  had  won  for  Boston  the 
title  of  the  "Athens  of  America,"  that  was  making  New 
York  and  Pennsylvania  the  commercial  and  industrial  mar 
vels  of  the  New  World,  if  not  of  the  whole  world,  and  that 
was  destined  to  make  Ohio  a  second  "Mother  of  Presi 
dents,"  had  overflowed  into  Northern  Illinois  and  begun  the 
building  of  Chicago,  the  multiplying  of  railroads,  the  intro 
duction  of  diversified  manufactures,  and  the  founding  of 
famous  institutions  of  learning  and  art. 

It  is  idle  to  conjecture  what  would  have  been  the  result 
if  the  people  of  Southern  Illinois  had  preempted  Northern 
Illinois,  and  vice  versa.  The  truth  is,  Ohioans,  Pennsyl- 
vanians,  New  Yorkers,  and  New  Englanders  would  not 

26 


UNIQUE  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS  27 

have  accepted  Southern  Illinois  as  a  gift;  and  the  early 
Southern  Illinoisans,  transplanted  to  the  Lake,  and  to  the 
Fox  and  Rock  Rivers,  would  not  have  been  equal  to  the 
task,  with  their  caste-ideals  and  love  of  leisure,  of  building 
Chicago,  and  of  making  Northern  Illinois  what  it  has 
become. 

This  lack  of  strenuosity,  economic  and  educational  enter 
prise,  and  forgeforwardness  was  not  a  vice — it  was  a 
calamity!  Southern  climate  and  environment  had  enervated 
them,  rendered  them  retrogressive  and  reactionary,  and 
made  them  wholly  unlike  their  Northern  neighbors,  who 
were  hardy,  persistent,  toil-defying,  book-devouring,  ever- 
aspiring,  boundlessly-enterprising  advance  couriers  of  con 
quest,  commerce,  civilization,  and  culture. 

They  were  a  defeated  people,  these  early  Southern  Illinois 
ans.  Like  the  Blacks,  they  had  become  a  servile  race. 
Indeed  in  the  states  whence  they  had  come  they  had  been 
"bested,"  not  only  by  the  Whites  but  also  by  the  Blacks. 
The  "Nigger,"  low-browed,  grinning,  fetich-worshiping,  a 
mere  chattel,  was  better  clothed  and  housed  and  fed,  in  every 
way  better  off,  than  the  despised  "po'  white  trash."  Under 
the  Southern  regime  the  Black  Man  had  conquered  these 
semi-derelict  blue-eyed  Anglo-Saxons  and  made  them  sloth 
ful,  apathetic,  superstitious,  resigned  to  poverty  and  squalor, 
submissive  to  a  thousand  crude  and  comical  practices,  and — 
what  many  a  Caesar  had  failed  to  do — supplanted  their  lan 
guage,  the  noblest  and  most  virile  in  the  world,  and  substi 
tuted  therefor  the  most  bizarre,  ludicrous,  grotesque,  and 
unetymological  lingo  ever  spoken  since  the  Babel  episode. 

Thus  landless,  stranded,  outcast,  and  enervated  and 
dispirited  by  contact  and  competition  with  a  servile  race, 
they  had  come  North  and  become  encysted  in  Southern 
Illinois;  by  their  opacity,  denseness  even,  suggesting  and 
compelling  for  themselves  the  fiercely-descriptive  christen- 


28  AMERICANS  ALL. 

ing — "Egyptians."  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  and  Jones- 
boro,  Illinois,  were  equi-distant  from  Ottawa,  where  Lincoln 
and  Douglas  first  met  in  that  greatest  oratorical  joust  and 
tournament  in  the  history  of  forensic  eloquence.  Indeed 
Southern  Illinois  was  Charleston,  South  Carolina — its 
uneducated,  uncultured,  unprogressive,  uninfluential  class — 
transplanted. 

According  to  a  strange  but  well-authenticated  psycho 
logical  law  the  exile  always  cherishes  a  passionate  love  and 
reverence  for  the  land  and  institutions  that  have  cruelly 
and  unjustly  rejected  and  ejected  him,  and  made  his  life 
a  heart-breaking  and  incessant  tragedy.  Every  pagan  cap 
tive,  fugitive,  battered  remnant  of  human  flotsam  and  jetsam, 
brought  with  him  his  own  country  and  its  institutions, 
beliefs  and  misbeliefs,  to  Rome. 

So  the  people  of  Southern  Illinois  brought  with  them  the 
spirit  of  the  Slavocracy — also  the  vain  dream  that  they  were 
now  to  be  the  "Lords  of  the  Manor ;"  that  in  their  new  home 
they  would  be  as  the  "Masters"  of  the  South. 

But  they  had  overlooked  their  limitations ;  that  they  lacked 
the  learning,  culture,  industry,  and  enterprise  that  had 
ahvays  characterized  the  Southern  Lords  and  Masters ;. 
that,  despite  all  their  hopes  and  dreams,  they  were  "crackers" 
still;  that  they  still  spoke  the  "Nigger"  lingo,  believed  and 
practiced  his  superstitions,  and  had  no  real  passion  for  learn 
ing  and  progress,  for  literature  and  the  fine  arts;  that  the 
possession  of  certain  sterling  qualities  had  made  the  South 
ern  Lords  and  Masters  what  they  were— owners  of  vast 
estates  and  retinues  of  slaves,  ornaments  of  Society,  and 
honored  occupants  of  the  Bench,  the  Governor's  Mansion, 
the  Halls  of  Congress,  and  the  White  House  at  Washington 
— and  that  their  lack  of  these  sterling  qualities  had  left 
them  "crackers"  still,  "jes'  po'  white  trash,"  as  they  were 
before  their  exodus. 


UNIQUE  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS  29 

Hence  the  "Egyptians"  were  rabidly  pro-Southern,  and 
fanatically  anti-Negro.  They  hated  the  Black  Man  because 
they  had  been  forced  down  to  his  level,  and  had  been  com 
pelled  to  compete  with  him — unsuccessfully.  And  by  claim 
ing  fellowship  with  the  Ruling  Class  in  the  South  they 
seemingly  advanced  their  quality,  and  reestablished  their 
Anglo-Saxon  superiority  and  importance. 

Nor  was  this  assumption  without  its  compensation.  It 
enriched  their  spirit  of  hospitality,  their  chivalrous  regard 
for  woman,  their  awkward  but  sincere  observance  of  social 
amenities,  their  readiness  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  the  dis 
tressed,  their  increasing  self-respect,  their  reverence  for  the 
rites  of  religion,  their  willingness  to  contribute,  out  of  their 
meager  means,  to  the  support  of  the  Church,  their  personal 
bravery,  and  their  hot  haste  to  call  the  slanderer  to  a  severe 
accounting,  all  after  the  manner  of  the  Southern  baron 
whom,  in  personal  contact,  they  had  both  envied  and 
despised;  but  now,  with  that  enchantment  distance  is  said 
to  lend,  they  had  come  to  pattern  after  and  revere. 

Of  course  there  were  exceptions.  A  very  few  had  brought 
with  them  all  the  vices  and  none  of  the  virtues  of  both 
Master  and  Negro;  on  the  other  hand  there  were  those 
whose  learning  and  culture  were  unsurpassed;  some  were 
at  once  of  the  bluest  blood  and  highest  Southern  connec 
tions  yet  conscientious  Abolitionists;  others  were  high- 
souled,  valorous  adventurers  under  the  spell  of  the  wander 
lust;  and  yet  others  were  ambitious  young  professional 
men. 

Of  all  this  state  and  condition  Raleigh  County,  of  which 
New  Richmond  was  the  county  seat,  was  eminently  typical. 
It  was  nowhere  touched  by  any  railroad,  and  hence  was 
practically  shut  in  from  the  world.  Though  the  soil  was 
poor  there  was  plenty  of  timber,  and  many  of  the  small 
streams  abounded  with  fish,  while  wild  game  was  abundant. 


30  AMERICANS  ALL 

Their  homes,  usually  near  some  stream,  were  built  of  logs, 
often  unhewn,  plastered  with  mud,  covered  with  clapboards, 
and  floored  with  puncheons.  They  rarely  had  more  than 
three  rooms,  frequently  only  one-"cabins,"  such  as  the 
Masters  in  the  South  always  provided  for  their  slaves. 
There  were  few  stoves,  but  little  "boughten"  furniture,  no 
table  linen,  not  many  dishes  and  kitchen  utensils,  and  none 
of  the  elegancies  and  luxuries  of  life.  Children  and  dogs 
abounded,  and  were  fed  and  housed  with  touching  impar 
tiality.  What  little  stock  they  had  was  of  the  "scrub" 
variety;  while  wagons,  harness,  and  farm  implements  were 
meager,  inferior,  and  chronically  dilapidated 

As  the  range  was  abundant  but  little  stock  was  fed. 
Every  farmer  was  his  own  butcher,  "killing"  but  once  a 
year,  usually  about  Thanksgiving.  The  staple  diet  was  "hog 
and  hominy,"  corn-pone  and  sorghum  molasses,  varied  with 
an  occasional  "mess  of  hog's-jaw  and  greens." 

Every  wife  made  her  own  soap,  carded,  spun  and  wove 
clothing  for  the  entire  family,  exchanged  eggs,  and  butter 
of  her  own  making,  for  coffee,  sugar,  salt,  pepper,  spice, 
alspice,  and  "a  bit  of  finery  for  the  girls." 

The  people  went  barefoot  nine  months  of  the  year  and 
regarded  coats,  waistcoats,  "biled"  shirts,  and  neck  and 
wrist  adornments  with  high  disdain ;  though  it  was  permis 
sible  to  oil  the  hair  with  bear-grease,  and  to  wear,  especially 
if  "engaged,"  a  ring  hollowed-out  from  a  button,  shell,  or 
copper  or  silver  coin. 

Of  money  there  was  next  to  none. 

Almost  everybody  had  chills  and  fever  in  the  fall;  but 
for  this  whiskey  and  quinine  were  a  specific,  and  the  death 
rate  was  low.  There  were  no  cases  of  "nerves,"  no  gout, 
no  anaemia  or  pyaemia,  no  "nervous  prostrations,"  no  angina 
pectoris,  no  diabetes,  but  little  asthma  and  consumption, 
while  the  vermiform  appendix  was  absolutely  immune. 


UNIQUE  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS  31 

There  were  no  "scarlet"  women,  no  "bad"  men,  no  wealth 
or  actual  want,  no  "plunging"  or  defalcations,  and,  for  a 
whole  generation,  there  was  not  a  divorce  sought,  or  illegiti 
mate  child  born,  or  suicide  or  homicide,  in  Raleigh  County. 

Their  principal  amusements  were  weddings  and  "infair 
dinners,"  corn-huskings,  apple-cuttings,  log-rollings,  house- 
raisings,  spelling-matches,  singing-schools,  kissing-parties, 
and  dances — the  fair  Hebes  and  the  gallant  Adonises  put 
ting  aside  their  "brogans"  and  dancing  in  their  stockinged 
feet ;  as  in  going  to  church,  always  afoot,  they  carried  their 
shoes  and  hosiery  in  their  hands  till  they  "neared"  the 
church. 

On  two  subjects  they  were  always  keenly  alive,  and  eager 
for  debate — Politics  and  Religion.  Religiously,  they  were 
Baptists  and  Methodists,  the  Baptists  slightly  predominating 
in  the  country. 

From  early  autumn  till  late  in  the  spring  every  com 
munity  was  profoundly  stirred  by  prolonged  and  strenuous 
"revivals." 

The  preachers  were  unlearned  but  tremendously  in  ear 
nest.  Often  unable  to  read  or  write  they  nevertheless  spoke 
with  an  authority  and  finality  that  would  have  awed  and 
blanched  the  cheeks  of  the  sternest  and  haughtiest  of  the 
Popes  and  Councils.  They  were  orthodox  to  the  core,  and 
literalists  even  to  the  italicized  words  added  by  the 
translators. 

Ignorance  is  always  narrow  and  intense,  and  can  easily 
be  kindled  to  ferocity — so  it  was  with  these  religionists. 
Denunciations  of  sister  churches  rang  from  pulpits,  and 
sometimes,  though  not  often,  the  brethren  passed  from  verbal 
polemics  to  fisticuff  encounters. 

The  Old  Testament  was  the  great  textual  storehouse,  and 
the  "terrors  of  the  law"  were  their  favorite  and  most  potent 
themes.  Awful  instances  of  God's  vengeance  were  related, 


32  AMERICANS  ALL 

and  sinners  were  exhorted  to  "come  instantly"  lest  they  drop 
into  hell  forever. 

What  wonder  their  trembling  auditors  had  the  "jerks," 
and  "jumps,"  and  "rickets,"  and  "rigors,"  and  went  into 
"trances,"  and  had  "visions"  at  which  they  cried  out  in 
ecstasy  or  terror? 

Often  at  midnight  the  ice  in  streams  was  cut  for  immer 
sions,  and  converts  were  "buried  with  Christ  in  baptism," 
fearful  that  before  dawn  they  might  die  unbaptized  and 
thus  be  eternally  lost. 

It  was  all  very  wild  and  weird  and  dramatic:  the  dark 
forest,  the  glittering  stars  above,  the  snow-covered  ice  many 
inches  thick,  the  rushing  flood  of  gurgling  water  beneath, 
the  fitful  torches,  the  excited,  shivering  throng  lining  the 
banks,  the  loud  exultant  songs,  the  fearful  but  faith-sus 
tained  converts  trembling  on  the  brink,  the  stern  unbending 
preacher  boldly  and  unshrinkingly  pushing  his  way  through 
the  rapidly-forming  barriers  of  ice  until  he  himself  was 
more  than  half  immersed — but  it  was  profoundly  impressive. 

In  the  summer  were  held  the  great  camp  meetings,  and 
the  tide  of  holy  fervor  rose  higher  than  ever.  "Has  he  come 
through  ?"  some  one  would  ask.  And  a  seraph-faced  mother 
of  Israel,  kneeling  beside  the  penitent  at  the  altar,  would 
clap  her  hands  and  exclaim,  "Yes,  yes,  oh,  yes !"  Then  the 
multitude  would  clap  their  hands  and  break  forth,  shouting 
and  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices : 

"Sing  on,  pray  on,  we're  a-gainin'  groun', 

Oh,  halle,  hallelujah! 
The  power  of  the  Lord  is  a-comin'  down, 

Oh,  glory  hallelujah!" 

Four  times  a  year  the  Methodist  presiding  elder,  always 
a  man  of  spiritual  unction  and  power,  came  for  a  two  or 
three  days'  assault  on  the  "powers  of  darkness,"  and  longer 


UNIQUE  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS  33 

if  the  signs  were  propitious.  The  "business"  of  the  quar 
terly  conference  was  purely  incidental  —  the  presiding 
elder's  real  business  was  soul-saving;  and  the  presiding 
elder  who  could  not  report  a  score  of  souls  saved  at  each 
quarterly  meeting  went  away  crestfallen,  feeling  that  his 
visitation  had  been  a  heartbreaking  failure. 

Then  finally  once  a  year  there  were  the  great  denomina 
tional  roundups,  "seasons  of  refreshing" — the  Conferences 
and  Associations.  The  bishopric  was  indeed  an  Apostolic 
office ;  nor  was  it  sought  and  obtained  by  worldly  methods. 
Those  early  bishops — wonderful  men — were  prayerfully 
chosen,  "called,"  on  account  of  their  preeminent  learning 
and  spirituality,  pulpit  power  and  holy  unction,  men  yet 
under  the  spell  of  Wesley's  heavenly-mindedness  and  single- 
minded  zeal  for  Christ  and  the  lost,  men  whose  lips  were 
yet  all  aglow  with  the  holy  fire  of  Pentecost,  and  who 
spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost — and  their 
anointed  presence  and  heaven-inspired  utterances  at  the 
Annual  Conference  always  added  glorious  annals  to  the 
history  of  the  Lord's  onward  and  triumphant  progress. 
And  the  Baptist  presbyters  numbered  among  their  pulpiteers 
men  who  were  not  one  whit  less  apostolic. 

With  the  exception  of  probably  a  half-dozen  New  Eng 
land  Universalists  and  Unitarians — birds  of  passage  blown 
thither  by  contrary  winds  from  their  true  course — perhaps 
there  was  not  an  adult  in  Raleigh  County,  out  of  New  Rich 
mond,  who  had  not  at  some  time  "experienced  religion," 
and  bowed  to  the  obligations  of  a  holy  life. 

New  Richmond — population  about  2,500 — was  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  county  of  which  it  was  the  capital.  It 
claimed  to  be  the  "Athens  of  Southern  Illinois,"  and  none 
seriously  disputed  the  claim.  It  boasted  of  having  more 
elegant  homes  than  any  town  of  its  size  in  the  state,  the 
politest  society,  more  college  graduates — there  were  an  even 


34  AMJSK1CAN8  ALL 

dozen — and,  finally,  the  manliest  men  and  the  handsomest 
women  in  the  world. 

Of  the  twelve  college  graduates,  five  had  traveled  in 
Europe,  and  two  in  their  callow  youth  had  run  away  and 
fought  with  Jackson  at  New  Orleans ;  later  they  had  voted 
for  him  for  president.  More  than  a  score  of  New  Richmond 
men  had  marched  and  fought  with  Scott  and  Taylor  'n 
Mexico.  Two  young  men  had  filibustered  with  Quitman  in 
Cuba.  One  returned;  in  Havana  the  other  knocked  down 
a  Spaniard  for  insulting  the  American  flag,  and  was  shot 
and  killed  by  a  drunken  ruffian.  One  boasted  of  an  ancestor 
who  had  signed  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  "not  far 
from  the  top";  and  another's  great-grandfather  had  bee«t 
on  Washington's  staff  when  Cornwallis  surrendered  at 
Yorktown. 

New  Richmond  had  also  furnished  one  governor,  one  state 
chief  justice,  one  federal  judge,  one  consul  at  Valparaiso,  and 
four  congressmen,  each  serving  one  term  only. 

Judge  Edmund  P.  Gildersleeve  had  studied  law  in  the 
office  of  the  great  John  Marshall;  and  once,  visiting  in 
Washington,  had  been  introduced  to  Daniel  Webster.  Pro 
fessor  Henry  St.  George  Pinckney,  a  genuine  bookworm 
of  the  grub  variety,  had  studied  the  Romance  languages 
under  the  poet  Longfellow  at  Cambridge;  and  once,  unfor- 
getable  day,  saw  Washington  Trving  ride  by  in  a  carriage. 
One  Ezra  Onstit  claimed  to  have  seen  and  shaken  hands  in 
1825  with  Lafayette;  but  as  he  was  a  horse  trader  and 
notorious  liar,  his  claim  was  generally  disallowed.  Besides, 
his  second  cousin  was  known  to  be  a  Massachusetts  Aboli 
tionist,  and  even  he,  Ezra,  was  suspected  of  being  a  Whig. 

This  gathering  of  a  truly  remarkable  group  of  families  at 
New  Richmond  is  easily  accounted  for — it  was  but  a  repeti 
tion  of  the  history  of  Cambridge,  and  Concord,  and  Weimar, 
and  Padua. 


UNIQUE  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS  35 

But  New  Richmond,  with  all  its  learning  and  culture, 
was  profoundly  religious.  It  was  Southern,  and,  hence, 
could  not  be  other  than  devout.  Still  the  luridness  of  the 
country  preaching,  and  literalness  of  interpretation,  were 
less  noticeable ;  and  the  congregations  were  by  far  less  emo 
tional.  Everybody  attended  divine  worship  each  Sabbath, 
Sunday  School  in  the  afternoon,  and  prayer  meeting  on 
Thursday  evening.  There  were  also  many  "sweeping  re 
vivals"  in  the  New  Richmond  churches.  Socially,  "the  latch- 
string  was  always  on  the  outside,"  and  it  was  not  until  long 
after  the  War  that  it  was  possible  to  maintain  a  decent  hotel 
in  New  Richmond,  for  the  reason  that  the  citizens  did  all 
the  entertaining  of  strangers  in  their  homes,  regarding 
the  presence  of  a  hotel  as  a  reflection  on  their  spirit  of 
hospitality. 

In  politics,  of  course,  they  were  Democrats.  They  were 
Southern  to  the  core  and  could  not  be  other  than  gentlemen 
and — Democrats.  In  1856  not  a  Whig  or  Republican  vote 
was  cast  in  Raleigh  County;  and  when,  at  a  previous  elec 
tion,  three  votes  had  been  cast  for  the  Whig  candidate  for 
the  presidency,  the  whole  county  felt  it  had  been  disgraced. 

In  the  main,  the  people  of  New  Richmond  were  not 
"crackers,"  or  "po'  white  trash";  nor  did  they  exhibit  any 
of  the  hall-marks  of  the  African  race,  save  in  a  slight  elision 
of  the  r,  and  an  occasional  dropping  of  the  final  g.  Their 
residences,  though  comparatively  small  and  inexpensive,  were 
severely  Colonial,  with  a  frequent  miniature  Norman  tower, 
Mansard  roof,  or  glimpse  of  Spanish  tile. 

They  swore  picturesquely,  though  only  under  great  provo 
cation,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  preacher,  played  an  excel 
lent  game  of  poker,  were  past  masters  at  concocting  juleps 
and  cocktails,  were  fond  of  a  fine  horse,  did  not  object  to  a 
bit  of  horse  racing  at  the  County  Fair,  went  to  the  circus 
once  a  year,  were  passionately  fond  of  the  theater,  and  at 


36  AMERICANS  ALL 

Louisville,  Nashville,  New  Orleans,  Richmond,  Baltimore, 
and  Washington  had  seen  the  elder  Booth,  the  elder  Salvini, 
Forrest  and  other  great  actors ;  were  familiar  with  and  fond 
of  quoting  from  the  Bible  and  Shakespeare  and  the  vener 
able  classics,  and  were  regular  in  church  attendance.  Many 
of  them  conducted  family  worship  each  morning,  and  in 
prayer  meetings  and  class  meetings  weekly  confessed  their 
"sins  of  omission  and  of  commission."  Some  of  their  worldly 
practices  were  wrong,  possibly  reprehensible;  nevertheless 
they  were  at  heart  loyal  to  their  church  and  religion,  and 
were — we  lift  our  hat  to  their  memory — Southern  gentlemen. 

As  in  Shakespeare's  dramas  there  are  many  characters,  of 
many  types  and  conditions,  from  the  king  to  the  king's  fool, 
so  at  New  Richmond  there  were  "barristers,  soldiers,  arti 
sans,  merchants,  men-servants,  maid-servants,  musicians, 
trumpeters,  the  town  crier,  and  'ye  foole  constable' " ;  but 
we  are  now  speaking  of  the  class  that  gave  to  New  Rich 
mond  its  character,  social  and  political  complexion,  and  envi 
able  fame. 

Perhaps  New  Richmond's  most  scholarly  and  picturesque 
citizen  was  Fairfax  Culpepper,  M.  D.,  at  once  the  leading 
physician,  politician,  arbiter  elegantiarum,  and  defender  and 
exemplar  of  the  Southern  Aristocracy.  Tall,  swarthy,  long 
black  hair,  flashing  dark-brown  eyes,  always  faultlessly 
groomed,  utterly  fearless,  a  slight  bullet-scar  on  the  left 
cheek,  the  result  of  a  "gentleman's  affair  of  honah,  suh,"  a 
University  of  Virginia  and  Heidelberg  man,  he  was  at  once 
the  pride  and  ornament  of  New  Richmond. 

Though  inclined  to  be  haughty  and  dictatorial,  abrupt  of 
speech  and  impatient  of  contradiction,  his  high  character  and 
great  kindness  of  heart  quickly  soothed  and  healed  the 
wounds  made  by  his  arrogant  manner  and  utterances,  and 
rendered  his  personal  regard  a  prized  possession.  To  be 


UNIQUE  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS  37 

recognized  by  Dr.  Culpepper  was  considered  an  honor,  and 
to  be  invited  to  The  Elms  as  the  command  of  Royalty. 

An  ancestor,  a  Stuart,  of  course,  had  been  a  trooper  in 
Prince  Rupert's  cavalry ;  another  had  been  with  John  Smith 
on  the  "Pocahontas  Expedition,"  as  the  doctor  picturesquely 
phrased  it,  and  the  doctor  himself  was  said  to  have  Indian 
blood  in  his  veins. 

As  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  Dr.  Culpepper  insisted 
that  the  modern  college  is  lax  in  both  discipline  and  exami 
nations  ;  that  the  elective  system  is  a  damnable  heresy ;  that 
no  man  can  truly  claim  to  be  a  genuine  scholar  without  a 
thorough  grounding  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  languages  and 
literature,  and  that  every  gentleman  should  have  both  a 
vocation  and  an  avocation ;  and,  true  to  his  theory,  he  had 
kept  up,  despite  his  widely  scattered  clientele  as  a  general 
practitioner,  his  classical  studies,  Horace  being  his  favorite 
author.  "Horace,"  he  said,  "because  he,  of  all  the  ancients, 
was  the  most  human,  the  truest  depicter  of  the  desires, 
instincts,  and  pleasures  of  the  average  man,  and  the  sanest 
and  most  ardent  preacher  and  exemplar  of  the  joy  of  living. 
Quoth  Horace,  'Dispel  the  cold  by  freely  piling  the  logs  upon 
the  hearth,  and  more  liberally  bring  out,  O  Thaliarchus,  the 
four-year-old  wine  from  the  Sabine  jar.  Leave  the  rest  to 
the  gods/  " 

Mrs.  Culpepper  was  a  Lee,  famed,  in  the  social  annals 
of  Lexington,  Kentucky,  for  her  striking  beauty,  literary 
and  linguistic  attainments,  and  never-failing  defense  of  the 
Southern  regime.  She  was  related  to  the  Lees  of  Virginia, 
and,  by  marriage,  was  cousin  to  Jefferson  Davis.  There 
were  two  children:  Harold,  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and 
Virginia  Lee,  two  years  her  brother's  junior. 


CHAPTER  III 

LOVE  AND  POLITICS — FAIR  MARJORIE 

JUDGE  GILDERSLEEVE,  I  believe." 
J  "Yes,  sir.  What  can  I  do  for  you?  Sit  down,  sir. 
Zed,  stir  up  the  fire !"  This  to  a  ruddy-faced  lad  with  a  rude 
shock  of  corn-tassel  hair.  "Mighty  cold  out.  Come  far? 
Better  draw  your  chair  up  to  the  stove  and  warm  your  feet. 
Comfort  before  business,"  with  a  low  chuckle. 

Judge  Gildersleeve  had  a  habit  of  carrying  on  a  monologue 
when  meeting  strangers.  It  enabled  him  to  study  them 
without  interruption. 

"As  I  was  saying,  young  man,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"I  have  no  business,  Judge  Gildersleeve.  I  have  called 
simply  to  pay  my  respects  to  you." 

"And  why  to  me?" 

"Because  for  years  you  have  been  at  the  head  of  the 
Southern  Illinois  Bar,  and  are  now,  I  believe,  the  Presiding 
Judge." 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"Samuel  Simonson." 

"What! — son  of  Abe  Simonson  of  Hawcreek  Township? 
The  biggest  liar  and  sneak  thief — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
That  isn't  possible  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  he  is  my  father."  This  with  quiet  dignity,  though 
the  color  had  risen  to  the  roots  of  the  young  man's  hair. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  You  certainly  don't  resemble 
your  father.  Indeed,  I  never  knew  that  Abe  Simonson  had 
a  son.  Where  do  you  work — got  a  trade  ?" 

38 


LOVE  AND  POLITICS  39 

"I'm  a  lawyer,  sir— or  suppose  I  am.  -At  least,  I've  been 
admitted  to  the  bar,  and  have  had  some  practice." 

The  Judge  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "Huh !"  to  himself,  "a 
lawyer !  Abe  Simonson's  son !  Yet  the  youngster  looks  it, 
now  that  I  take  a  square  squint  at  him.  Uncommonly  fine 
head.  Resembles  Justice  Marshall.  Reminds  me  of  the  old 
Greek  and  Roman  jurists,  only  younger.  Nature  does  play 
some  devilish  pranks" — all  the  while  drumming  his  finger 
tips  on  the  table.  Then  aloud,  "Where  were  you  born,  sir?" 

"In  Missouri,  in  1832;  or  so  my  father  says." 

"And  why  the  qualifying  clause  ?" 

"Because,  sir,  sometimes  I  seem  to  remember  being  some 
where  else  about  the  time  I  began  to  note  things  at  St. 
Joseph,  Missouri, — a  dream-vision  dissolving  into  rugged 
reality." 

"Strange  fancy.  You  must  be  a  theosophist,  a  transmigra- 
tionist/' 

"Oh,  no,  sir, — nothing  so  metaphysical  as  that." 

The  Judge  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a  cigar.  Finding  none,  he 
lighted  his  pipe,  all  the  while  keenly  scrutinizing  his  young 
caller.  "The  ordinary  Raleigh  County  youth  would  have 
been  stumped  by  such  terms  as  I  have  used,  but  this  young 
ster — old  Abe  Simonson's  son — disclaims  being  'metaphys 
ical.'  Humph !"  The  Judge's  mind  was  busy. 

"You  say  you  are  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Simonson;  but  how 
about  your  general  education? — your " 

"Nothing  to  boast  of,  I  assure  you,  Judge  Gildersleeve. 
However,  I'm  a  Harvard  man,  '53,  and " 

"The  hell — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  You,  old  Abe  Simon- 
son's  son,  a  Harvard  man,  great  class  of  '53?  Why,  I  re 
member "  The  Judge  paused.  He  "remembered"  that 

in  '53  he  had  sentenced  Abe  Simonson  to  the  penitentiary  for 
five  years  for  horse  stealing. 

"And  you  graduated  from  Harvard  ?" 


40  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Yes,  sir,"  modestly.    "I  worked  my  way  through." 

"Worked  your  way  through!  I'm  proud  of  you!  Shake, 
young  man,  shake !"  The  Judge  leaped  to  his  feet  and  was 
extending  his  hand.  "Dog  my  cats !  I'm  a  Yale  man  myself, 
'27.  Why,  damn  it — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ! — you  warm  the 
cockles  of  my  heart.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"There's  little  to  tell,  Judge  Gildersleeve.  I  was  just  a 
grub,  that's  all.  I  was  too  busy  keeping  up  with  my  classes, 
and  earning  money  to  meet  my  expenses — tuition,  books,  and 
board — for  anything  else.  In  fact,  but  for  the  encourage 
ment  of  Charlie  Eliot,  one  of  my  classmates,  I  don't  think  I 
could  have  pulled  through." 

"Member  of  any  of  the  frats?  On  the  'nine'  or  'eleven'? 
How  about  the  Cambridge  gals?"  The  Judge's  eyes  were 
twinkling  with  good  humor. 

"As  for  the  frats  and  sports,  Judge,  I  was  too  busy  shovel 
ing  snow  and  ashes  for  rich  people,  sawing  wood,  doing 
errands,  and,  toward  the  last,  coaching  sophs  and  freshies 
for  their  exams.  As  for  the  girls — ah,  well,  you  know  girls 
have  no  use  for  j)Oor  boys." 

Just  then  there  was  a  good-sized  earthquake  in  the  next 
room.  The  Judge  exclaimed,  "Damn  that  Zed !"  and  excused 
himself.  There  was  a  giggle,  and  a  low-voiced  colloquy  that 
sounded  like  tender  entreaty,  followed  by  a  mock-gruff  re 
fusal  ;  presently  the  Judge  returned. 

"Your  story  interests  me,  Mr.  Simonson.  After  your 
graduation  at  Harvard ?" 

"Why,  I  spent  a  year  in  Europe." 

"In  Europe?"  The  Judge  frowned,  plainly,  incredulous, 
and  half  rose  as  if  to  end  the  interview. 

"It  was  this  way,  Judge  Gildersleeve :  I  got  a  job  on  a 
cattle-ship  and  worked  my  way  over.  The  captain's  brother 
had  the  European  agency  for  Bumbold's  Compound  Extract 
of  Fuchu,  and  through  him — a  Harvard  man,  as  it  happened, 


LOVE  AND  POLITICS  41 

'43 — I  got  a  place  with  one  of  his  advertising  gangs.  Didn't 
like  the  job,  but  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  get  outdoor  exercise, 
make  some  money,  and,  incidentally,  see  Europe." 

The  explanation,  brief  and  frank,  pleased  the  Judge,  and 
at  once  restored  the  entente  cordiale. 

"And— then?" 

"Yes,  once  more  back  to  dear  old  Harvard,  invigorated, 
broadened,  and  with  my  whole  year's  salary  in  my  pocket, 
for,"  he  added  with  a  smile,  "you  see,  I  worked  my  way  back 
on  another  cattle-ship." 

"Huh!    Then?" 

"Oh,  there's  little  more  to  add — work  and  study,  study  and 
work,  always  with  the  dream  of  the  final  Commencement, 
and  the  day  when  I  could  begin  an  honorable  career  in  a 
great  and  noble  profession."  The  young  lawyer's  face  was 
flushed,  and  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"Did  you  ever  see — Daniel  Webster?" 

"Yes,  sir — and  once  I  opened  the  door  of  his  carriage.  He 
spoke  to  me  kindly,  gave  me  his  hand,  and  pronounced  a 
blessing  on  me.  He  was  very  sorrowful.  He  had  just  made 
his  Seventh  of  March  Speech  and  it  seemed  that  everybody 
had  turned  against  him." 

The  Judge  to  himself:  "And  from  Missouri — old  Abe 
Simonson's  son  —  Harvard  man  —  attorney-at-law  —  noble 
man.  Great  God !" 

Judge  Edmund  P.  Gildersleeve  was  not  an  emotional  man, 
but  now  he  was  moved  deeply.  His  heart  went  out  to  the 
young  lawyer.  A  Simonson,  he  thought,  yet  a  nobleman; 
a  thoroughbred  sprung  from  basest  stock ;  a  stainless  knight 
sired  by  a  groveling  knave.  The  Judge  knew  New  Rich 
mond's  proud  caste,  its  haughty  exclusiveness.  Why  had  this 
young  man  come  to  New  Richmond  to  achieve  fame  and 
fortune?  But  it  was  not  for  him  to  question.  For  the 
young  man  it  meant  defeat  at  first,  and  social  crucifixion. 


42  AMEEICANS  ALL 

He  would  be  condemned  without  a  hearing,  ostracized. 
Simonson — the  very  word  a  hissing  and  a  byword,  a  cruel 
sentence,  an  inflexible  excommunication.  "Yet  he  himself  is 
innocent  and  I  like  him,"  mused  the  Judge.  "By  the  Eternal, 
I'll  help  him,  stand  by  him.  So  shall  Culpepper,  and  Wilcox, 
and  Pinckney,  and  all  the  rest.  I'll  make  it  a  personal  mat 
ter.  I  don't  care  anything  about  his  politics  or  religion.  I'll 
try  to  forget  his  scoundrelly  old  father.  He's  a  brother  col 
lege  alumnus,  and — he  saw  Daniel  Webster,  and  actually 
shook  hands  with  him.  Besides,  he's  a  gentleman — I  can't 
be  mistaken.  He  tells  a  straight  story,  doesn't  disown  his 
scapegrace  father,  and  isn't  ashamed  of  honest  poverty. 
Yes,  sir,  I'll  stand  by  him  and — I'll  see  him  through." 

"I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Simonson,"  arousing  from 
his  meditations,  "how  much  I  have  enjoyed  the  narrative  of 
your  college  experiences.  Really,  you  have  put  me  under 
obligations  to  you.  But  most  of  all  do  I  appreciate  your 
courtesy  in  calling  on  me  and  honoring  me  with  your  confi 
dence.  And  now,  as  a  slight  compensation,  I  want  you  to 
be  my  guest  tonight ;  and,  as  it  is  about  supper  time,  we'd 
better  be  going." 

In  vain  the  young  lawyer  strove  to  excuse  himself,  though 
at  heart  both  proud  and  glad  of  his  sudden  access  of  good 
fortune,  for  he  knew  it  meant  much  to  be  the  invited  guest 
of  Judge  Gildersleeve. 

The  introductions  at  The  Maples  were  simple  and  in 
formal,  and  supper  was  already  on  the  table.  There  was 
another  guest — Harold  Culpepper,  son  of  the  Doctor.  The 
young  lawyer  was  seated  next  to  Marjorie,  the  Judge's  only 
daughter ;  and  opposite  them  were  Mr.  Culpepper  and  Mar- 
jorie's  brother  Fred. 

"Mother,"  said  the  Judge,  "Mr.  Simonson  has  been  renew 
ing  my  youth  this  afternoon  with  an  account  of  his  college 
days  and  experiences." 


LOVE  AND  POLITICS  43 

"Indeed!"  replied  Mrs.  Gildersleeve ;  "and  your  Alma 
Mater,  Mr.  Simonson?"  turning  to  her  guest. 

"Harvard,  Madam."    His  voice  was  low  and  deferential. 

"Then  I  suppose,  sir,  you  are  an  Abolitionist,  and  swear  by 
Garrison?" 

It  was  young  Culpepper,  and  there  was  a  hint  of  a  sneer 
in  his  voice.  Judge  Gildersleeve  looked  up  sharply,  half  in 
rebuke ;  but  Marjorie  broke  in : 

"I'm  sure,  Harold,  Mr.  Simonson's  politics  do  not  concern 
us.  You  know  what  Professor  Pinckney  says." 

"Yes — poor  old  Pink '  By  the  way,  he's  another  Harvard 
man,"  yet  more  ungraciously.  "I  half  suspect  he,  too,  has 
the  Yankee  infection." 

The  young  lawyer  smiled,  and  Marjorie  suddenly  became 
conscious  of  the  rare  yet  rugged  beauty  of  his  face  and  head. 

"Mr.  Culpepper  has  a  perfect  right  to  inquire  regarding 
my  politics,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  only  sorry  I  can't  give  him  a 
decisive  answer." 

"Then  you  are  an  Abolitionist,"  affirmed  young  Culpepper. 
"I  thought  so  the  moment  I  saw  you." 

"Harold,"  broke  in  Marjorie  again,  "are  all  Abolitionists 
fine-looking,  well  educated,  and  cultivated  gentlemen?" 

The  speech  was  wholly  unexpected,  therefore  all  the  more 
effective.  Plainly  the  situation  was  becoming  uncomfortable 
for  a  certain  aggressive  and  outspoken  young  man. 

"I  must  disclaim  both  accusation  and  compliment,"  ex 
claimed  the  young  lawyer,  "the  latter  to  my  regret.  As  to 
politics,  I  am  wholly  unversed.  I  have  been  too  busy  to  give 
heed  to  the  criminations  and  recriminations  of  the  politicians  ; 
besides,  during  my  year  abroad  I  knew  nothing  of  what  was 
going  on  in  America." 

"Then  at  least  you're  not  an  out-and-out  Abolitionist?" 
It  was  the  kindly  voice  of  Mrs.  Gildersleeve. 

"Dear  madam," — and  no  priest  could  have  spoken  with 


44  AMERICANS  ALL 

greater  unction — "I  can  only  claim  to  be  a  patriot.  Political 
parties  and  religious  sects  alike  confuse  me.  I  believe  in 
God,  in  the  Saviour,  that  morality  is  the  exalted  poetry  of 
life,  and  in  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul — beyond  this  I  can 
not  say.  As  to  the  counterclaims  of  Unitarian  and  Trini 
tarian,  Baptist  and  Paedo-Baptist,  Arminian  and  Calvinist, 
I  am  unable  to  render  a  verdict  satisfactory  even  to  myself. 
But  may  I  not  nevertheless  claim  to  be  a  religious  man — just 
as  I  love  flowers,  though  unversed  in  botany,  and  as  I  adore 
the  stars,  God's  flowers  that  gem  the  skies,  though  I  know 
but  little  of  astronomy?" 

"Nobly  said,  young  man,  nobly  said." 

"I  thank  you,  Judge  Gildersleeve." 

"And  so  you  think  you  can  dwell  securely  and  serenely  in 
the  ethereal  heights  of  Patriotism,"  pursued  Harold,  nettled 
by  the  Judge's  approval  of  Simonson's  speech,  "and  at  the 
same  time  ignore  all  political  parties,  and  continue  deaf  to 
your  country's  call." 

"I  did  not  say  that,  Mr.  Culpepper.  I  said  the  clamor  and 
counterclaims  of  parties  confuse  me — but  that  1  am  a  patriot, 
ready  to  respond  instantly  to  my  country's  call,  I  stoutly 
affirm." 

"Good!"  mockingly.  "Then  may  I  inquire  which  side  is 
to  be  honored  with  your  invaluable  aid  in  the  present  crisis 
— the  Tyrants  of  the  North,  or  the  true  Patriots  of  the 
South?" 

Judge  Gildersleeve's  face  was  flushed  with  deep  anger. 
Though  Harold  was  Marjorie's  fiance,  and  the  son  of  his 
dearest  friend,  he  had  outraged  the  generous  spirit  of  true 
hospitality.  Raising  his  hand  threateningly,  "Stop,  Harold ! 
You  shall  not  insult  my  guest,  nor " 

"Please,  Judge  Gildersleeve,"  interrupted  the  young  law 
yer,  "I  do  not  think  Mr.  Culpepper  meant  any  offense.  If 


LOVE  AND  POLITICS  45 

I  may  be  permitted  a  word  more,  I  think  we  shall  happily 
understand  each  other." 

The  young  lawyer  had  spoken  with  a  generous  optimism, 
and  was  rewarded  with  a  gladdening  smile  from  Marjorie, 
which  Harold  noted. 

"If  it  were  a  foreign  foe  to  be  combated,  no  true  American 
would  hesitate  a  moment ;  but  this  is  a  family  feud,  a  domes 
tic  quarrel.  I  believe  the  men  on  both  sides  are  equally  hon 
orable  and  patriotic." 

"For  shame,  Judge  Gildersleeve,"  said  Harold,  rising  from 
the  table.  "I  at  least  must  resent  this " 

"Sit  down,  Harold.  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  Go  on,  Mr. 
Simonson." 

"I  have  but  little  more  to  add,  Judge  Gildersleeve.  I  read 
Daniel  Webster's  Seventh  of  March  Speech  with  deep  emo 
tion  and  said,  'There  speaks  the  true  patriot/  When  Jeffer 
son  Davis  came  to  Boston,  two  years  ago,  I  managed  to  hear 
him.  The  great  Caleb  Gushing  presided,  and  the  illustrious 
Edward  Everett  graced  the  platform  with  his  presence.  As 
I  listened  to  the  learned  and  eloquent  Mississippian,  I  said, 
'There  speaks  the  true  American/  The  speeches  made  at  the 
two  National  Democratic  Conventions,  at  Charleston  and 
Baltimore,  I  read  with  the  deepest  sympathy  and  said,  'Patri 
ots  all,  but  too  fiery  and  inflammable/  Many  times  in  Boston 
I  heard  Wendell  Phillips — an  infernal  machine  set  to  music, 
some  one  called  him — and  William  Lloyd  Garrison.  Always 
they  saddened,  sometimes  angered,  me;  still  honesty  com 
pelled  me  to  say,  'Nevertheless  they  are  patriots,  but  too  mo 
rose,  too  bitter,  too  denunciatory/  Last  winter  at  Cooper 
Institute,  New  York,  I  heard  Abraham  Lincoln  and — and — " 

"You  fell  down  and  worshipped  him,  declared  him  to  the 
the  greatest  patriot  of  them  all."  It  was  Harold  Culpepper, 
furious. 


46  AMERICANS  ALL 

"No,  Mr.  Culpepper.  Again  you  are  in  error.  I  did  not 
fall  down  and  worship  him,  nor  did  I  apotheosize  him  as  a 
patriot,  though  a  great  patriot  he  unquestionably  is.  But  I 
did  say,  'This  is  the  broadest-visioned,  the  levelest-headed, 
and  the  kindest-hearted  man  I  ever  saw.' " 

Fortunately,  at  this  juncture  they  were  interrupted  by  the 
arrival  of  Dr.  Culpepper,  Professor  Pinckney,  Abner  Wilcox, 
and  a  number  of  young  people,  and  they  all  went  into  the 
parlor. 

For  a  moment  young  Simonson  was  beside  Mar j one. 
Shyly  she  took  his  hand,  glancing  quickly  at  the  rest  of  the 
company  to  see  she  was  not  observed,  and  in  a  low  voice 
said  to  him,  "You  are  the  noblest  man  I  ever  met,  and  a  true 
gentleman."  She  paused  a  moment,  a  trifle  confused,  then 
added,  "Papa  believes  in  you,  and  so  do  I.  You  will  not 
think  me  forward,  will  you  ?  You  were  insulted  at  our  table, 
and  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am  on — on  your  side." 

The  young  lawyer  was  surprised,  but  very  happy.  As  wak 
ing  from  a  dream,  he  suddenly  realized  that,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  he  had  been  pierced  by  one  of  Cupid's  arrows — 
that  he  was  in  love  with  the  Judge's  daughter,  with  Marjorie 
Gildersleeve.  True,  she  was  engaged  to  Harold  Culpepper, 
but  he  could  adore  her  in  the  distance. 

However,  he  was  not  given  time  to  soliloquize  or  rhapso 
dize.  He  must  now  meet  Harold's  father,  and  he  dreaded 
the  ordeal.  Would  he  be  catechized  by  father  as  he  had  been 
by  son — only  more  severely  ?  Were  there  yet  more  and  sorer 
insults  in  store  for  him?  But — and  suddenly  his  face  was 
luminous  with  happiness — "I  know  there's  somebody  on  my 
side."  Looking  across  the  room,  he  saw  "Somebody,"  and 
under  his  breath  he  murmured,  "Marjorie !" 

Opposite  Marjorie,  a  handsome,  imperious  man,  evidently 
Dr.  Culpepper,  was  grasping  Judge  Gilder  sleeve's  hand,  and 


LOVE  AND  POLITICS  47 

booming :  "  <J  Acris  hiems  solvitur  grata  vice  veris  et  Favoni. 
machinse  trahuntque  siccas  carinas ;  nee  prata  albicant  canis 
pruinis.'  " 

"And  you  say,  Judge,  this  youngster  is  the  son  of  Abe 
Simonson?  Then  he's  a  villain !" 

"To  the  contrary,  Doctor,  he's  one  of  the  finest  young  men 
I  ever  met.  Besides,  he's  a  Harvard  man,  both  letters  and 
law." 

"Then,  of  course,  he's  an  infernal  Abolitionist.  Thought 
so  the  moment  I  saw  him." 

"Wrong  again,  Doctor." 

"What,  a  true  patriot?  Then  let  me  shake  his  hand,  and 
pledge  him  my  friendship  in  a  glass  of  wine.  Quoth  Horace : 
<2Nunc  ego  qua?ro  mutare  mitibus  tristia,  dum  opprobriis, 
recantatis  fias  mihi  arnica  reddasque  animum.' " 

"Not  so  fast,  good  Doctor.  He  has  gone  through  the  fires 
of  Boston  Abolitionism  ;  he  also  heard  Lincoln  at  the  Cooper 
Institute  great  meeting — and  is  yet  undecided;  for  he  also 
saw  Daniel  Webster,  and  has  read  his  Seventh  of  March 
Speech.  Likewise  he  saw  and  heard  our  Chieftain  on  his  last 
visit  to  Boston.  It  is  now  for  us  to  win  him  to  our  sacred 
Cause." 

"And  that  we  will  do.    Present  me  to  him." 

But  there  was  little  chance  for  conversation,  as  Marjorie 
soon  bore  the  young  lawyer  away  to  present  him  to  a  number 
of  her  young  friends.  After  that  came  dancing,  and  as 
dancing  was  not  one  of  the  accomplishments  of  the  young 
disciple  of  Justinian,  the  two  enjoyed  a  quiet  tgte-a-tete  in 


1  Severe   -winter    is   melting   beneath    the    agreeable    change    of 
spring  and  the  western  breeze,   and   the  windlasses  are  drawing 
down  the  dry  vessels;  nor  are  the  meadows  whitened  with  hoar 
frost. 

2  Now   I   am    anxious   to   exchange   bitter   taunts   for   soothing 
strains,  provided  that  my  injurious  expression  being  recanted,  tLou 
wilt  become  my  friend  and  restore  my  peace  of  mind. 


48  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  unoccupied  family  sitting  room.  As  soon  as  they  were 
seated  Marjorie  said: 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  regret  Mr.  Culpepper's 
treatment  of  you  at  supper." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,  Miss  Marjorie.  To  be  perfectly 
frank,  my  heart  fairly  aches  with  gratitude  to  him  for  it." 

Marjorie  started  with  surprise,  then  laughed  softly.  The 
glow  of  the  old-fashioned  fireplace  caused  her  rich  masses  of 
dark  auburn  hair  to  gleam  like  a  glorified  halo.  Ten  shapely 
digits,  folded  gracefully  on  her  lap,  proclaimed  the  beauty — 
the  wonderful  beauty — of  her  hands.  Dimples  in  her  cheeks 
and  chin  seemed  to  coquette  with  each  other,  innocently  de 
claring  what  exquisite  receptacles  they  would  be  for  kisses. 
Her  eyes — they  reminded  him  of  a  pair  of  eyes  in  the  Palazza 
Farnesina,  painted  by  Raphael.  Yet  laughing: 

"And  pray,  Mr.  Simonson,  why  are  you  thankful  for  Mr. 
Culpepper's  dastardly  conduct?" 

"Because  to  that  I  am  indebted  for  the  great  happiness  of 
the  present  moment,  and  the  thrill  I  felt  when  you  promised 
always  to  be  on  my  side." 

Marjorie  suddenly  sobered.  Perhaps  her  sympathy  had 
carried  her  too  far.  It  came  to  her  that  she  was  dealing  with 
a  masterful  man.  She  thought  of  a  lion — yes,  he  was  a  lion, 
now  in  sportive  mood ;  but  once  aroused — but  she  liked  him. 
He  was  quieter  than  Harold,  yet  stronger ;  she  felt  it.  She 
marked  his  strong  jaw,  firm  chin,  glowing  eyes.  Once 
angered,  or  in — love.  His  low,  purring  voice  when  replying 
to  Harold's  taunts  she  remembered  and — trembled.  She 
awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  was  afraid  of  him — yet  she  didn't 
want  him  to  leave  her.  He  was  so  restful  and  sensible,  evi 
dently  honest  and  strong — she  hoped  no  one  would  interrupt 
them,  not  even  Harold.  Harold — she  paled,  and  into  her 
eyes  came  a  hunted  look.  She  had  forgotten  to  respond  to 
her  guest's  gallant  speech.  She  heard  him,  seemingly  in 


LOVE  AND  POLITICS  49 

X 

the  distance,  addressing  her  again.  Without  waiting  to 
catch  the  drift  of  his  speech,  she  looked  up  and  said : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Simonson,  you  must  not  take  me  too  literally." 
She  tried  to  laugh,  but  in  her  voice  there  was  a  suggestion 
of  tears. 

"I  understand  you  now,"  he  said,  gravely,  "and  beg  your 
pardon.  I'm  sorry  I  took  you  too  seriously  a  moment  ago. 
I  thought  you  were  in  earnest.  I  did  not  dream  you  were 
jesting.  Again  I  crave  your  pardon.  I  guess  I'd  better  be 
going." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Simonson.  Please  do  not  go— yet.  You 
must  understand  me.  I  did  mean  what  I  said.  I  like  you, 
as  I  see  Papa  and  Mama  and  Fred  do.  I'm  sure  you  are 
worthy  and — and  that  we  shall  learn  to  like  you  more  and 
more.  And — and,"  extending  her  hand,  "believe  me,  I 
shall  always  be  on  your  side." 

Reverently  he  bowed  and  kissed  her  hand,  an  act  of 
homage  witnessed  by  a  pair  of  eyes,  sparkling  with  jealousy, 
in  the  adjoining  room. 

"I  thank  you  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  Miss  Marjorie 
— that  is  all  I  can  say." 

"That's  all  a  manly  man  needs  to  say,  Mr.  Simonson," 
and  her  eyes  gave  him  gracious  assurance. 

After  a  little  desultory  conversation,  he  remarked:  "I 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate  your  father's  invita 
tion  to " 

"But  Papa  didn't  invite  you,  Mr.  Simonson." 

"He  didn't!    Then  who  did?" 

"Why— 7  did." 

"How — where  ?"  mystified. 

"Now  you  will  be  angry  with  me,  Mr.  Simonson,  and 
denounce  me  as  an  eavesdropper,  but  really  I  couldn't  help 
myself.  It  was  this  way:  When  you  came  into  Papa's 
office — and  how  could  I  have  known  you  were  coming?" — 


50  AMERICANS  ALL 

with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eyes — "I  was  in  Papa's  den, 
looking  over  some  new  books  and  prints.  You  came,  and  I 
thought — well,  you  know,  Papa  and  I  have  no  secrets.  But 
when  Papa  began  quizzing  you  so  dreadfully,  I  did  try  to  get 
out.  But  the  hall  door  was  locked  and — and  I  just  couldn't 
crawl  through  the  transom.  And  then  I — I  fell  and " 

"But  I  thought  it  was  Zed,  the  office  boy.    Your  father — " 

"Yes,  I  know — but  he  had  forgotten  that  I  was  in  the 
consultation  room,  and  when  I  came  down  like  an  earth 
quake  he  rushed  in,  angry  at  the  interruption,  and  naturally 
shouted  'Zed !'  Didn't  you  hear  me  giggle  ?  Oh,  but  Papa 
was  angry,  but  I  soon  pacified  him.  Then  I  told  him  he 
must  invite  you  to  The  Maples  to  supper,  and  to  stay  all 
night." 

"But  why,  Miss  Marjorie?  I  presume  I'm  stupid,  but 
really  I  can't  see  the  connection." 

"Why,  Mr.  Simonson,  I'd  heard  so  much  of  your  story, 
and  what  a  struggle  you'd  had,  and  how  wonderfully  you'd 
succeeded,  and  at  first  I  was  so  sorry  for  you ;  and  then 
when  I  heard  you  tell  all  about  Harvard,  and  Boston,  and 
Europe,  and — Daniel  Webster,"  deliciously  mimicking  the 
dear  old  Pater,  "I  was  that  proud  of  you — that  is,  of  your 
success,  past  and  prospective — I  told  Papa  that  if  he  didn't 
invite  you,  though  you  were  a  stranger,  and  the — the — well, 
knew  no  one  in  New  Richmond,  I  just  wouldn't  be  his  little 
girl  any  more.  Didn't  you  hear  us  fussing  and  fussing 
scandalously?" 

"And  after  hearing  all  about  me,  from  my  own  lips,  my 
pedigree  and  station,  you  were  willing  to  meet  me  ?" 

He  was  very  pale,  his  lips  drawn  and  quivering,  his  eyes 
sunken  and  ghastly.  That  this  queenly  maiden,  the  only 
woman  whose  spell  he  had  ever  felt,  whose  magnetic  charm 
for  the  first  time  had  brought  to  life  in  him  the  unutterable 
primal  mate-passion,  whose  first  look  had  marked  an  inde- 


,  LOVE  A^D  POLITICS  51 

structible  epoch  in  his  life,  that  she  should  know  his  family, 
his  ancestry,  unnerved  him,  immeasurably  saddened  him. 

Marjorie  now  was  more  frightened  than  ever  and  again 
realized  that  she  was  dealing  with  a  new  type  of  man.  When 
she  had  begun  her  confession  of  eavesdropping  she  had  for 
gotten  who  his  father  was. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  you  two  runaways !  Why  aren't  you 
dancing  ?" 

"Mr.  Simonson  doesn't  dance,  Papa,  and  I  didn't  care  to ; 
so,  to  'escape  death  and  sudden  destruction/  according  to 
the  Prayer  Book,  we  came  in  here.  And  now  I  shall  leave 
you  gentlemen  to  your  glory  and — tobacco,"  with  a  smiling 
grimace.  The  gentlemen  bowed — ah,  that  rare  old  South 
ern  chivalry ! — as  Marjorie  swept  out,  flinging  her  father  a 
kiss. 

Judge  Gildersleeve  introduced  several  of  his  friends: 
Prof.  Henry  St.  George  Pinckney,  Voe  Bijaw,  editor  of 
The  Cackler;  Hiram  Goldbeck,  the  leading  banker;  Uncle 
Joel  Race,  proprietor  of  the  Hub ;  Rector  Henry  Lee  Froth- 
ingay,  of  Gethsemane  Church,  and  the  Reverend  Webster 
Beach,  shepherd  of  the  Methodist  flock. 

But  the  "impromptu"  party  soon  broke  up.  As  Dr.  Cul- 
pepper  departed,  he  looked  the  young  lawyer  keenly  in  the 
eyes  and  said,  "I'll  see  you  again  very  soon,  sir." 

At  another  door,  apart  from  the  other  guests,  Harold  was 
saying,  "I  don't  see,  Marjorie,  how  you  can  bear  old  Abe 
Simonson's  son." 

"He  seems  to  be  a  perfect  gentleman,  Harold.  Some 
sons,  you  know,  are  better  than  their  parents." 

Harold  winced.  Amsden  Armentrout,  the  blacksmith, 
once  had  hinted  that  Harold  Culpepper  was  no  credit  to 
his  parents.  As  soon  as  the  news  had  reached  The  Elms, 
Harold,  in  a  towering  rage,  had  promptly  sallied  forth  and 


52  AMERICANS  ALL 

provoked  a  disgraceful  altercation  with  the  heat-tanned  son 
of  Vulcan. 

"But,  Marjorie,  he's  such  a  greenhorn.  He's  not  at  all 
like  our  people." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  our  people,  perhaps,"  with  a 
saucy  tilt  of  her  chin.  "Besides,  he's  a  Harvard  man,  has 
spent  a  year  in  Europe,  and  is  now  a  fine  lawyer.  Why, 
Harold,  I  know  young  men  right  here  in  New  Richmond, 
well  born  and  gently  bred,  who  have  enjoyed  every  advan 
tage,  and  yet  have  made  no  such  record."  Another  home 
thrust. 

"But  don't  you  see,"  growing  angry,  "he's  a  pesky  Aboli 
tionist?  He  as  good  as  said  so,  Marjorie." 

"To  the  contrary,  he  said  he  was  not  an  Abolitionist,  and 
7  believe  him.  But  what  though  he  is — isn't  that  his  privi 
lege?  You  forget,  Harold,  that  Emerson  and  Bryant  and 
Whittier  and  Longfellow  are  Abolitionists — good  men,  great 
men,  patriots.  I  admire  Mr.  Simonson  for  his  liberality  and 
open-mindedness." 

"Then  marry  him  and  be — damned!"  Harold  was  in  a 
white  fury,  but  instantly  repented.  "Forgive  me,  Marjorie ! 
Believe  me,  I  didn't  mean  it." 

"I  might  do  worse  than  marry  Mr.  Simonson,  for  he  is 
a  gentleman  and  would  never— of  this  I  am  sure — forfeit 
my  respect.  And  as  for  being  'damned'  by  marrying  him, 
I  might  marry  somebody  else  and  suffer  a  worse  damnation. 
Good-night,  Harold,  and — the  pleasure  of  your  reflections!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

CONSPIRACY — THE  DREADED  PROVOST-MARSHAL 

r  IAHE  "impromptu"  party  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's  had 
JL  been  carefully  planned  by  the  suddenly  alarmed  Cul- 
peppers. 

Since  the  November  election  the  air  had  been  electrical 
with  excitement,  all  culminating  in  the  portentous  inaugura 
tion  of  Jefferson  Davis,  at  Montgomery,  Alabama,  the  day 
prior  to  the  young  lawyer's  arrival  at  New  Richmond. 

With  accounts  of  the  Montgomery  inauguration,  alto 
gether  reliable,  came  many  rumors  quite  as  unreliable :  that 
both  Lincoln  and  Davis  had  been  assassinated ;  that  neither 
Lincoln  nor  Davis  had  been  assassinated,  but  that  Davis 
was  dauntless,  while  Lincoln  had  weakened,  and  was  being 
guarded  by  Abolitionists  to  prevent  him,  from  "taking  to  his 
heels" — and,  accordingly,  the  Republicans  were  gloomy  and 
dispirited,  while  the  Democrats  were  bold,  aggressive,  and 
jubilant. 

On  Inauguration  Day  evening,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Culpeppei 
had  given  a  reception  in  honor  of  the  elevation  of  Mrs.  Cul- 
pepper's  cousin  to  the  presidency  of  the  Confederate  States 
of  America;  and  until  a  late  hour  The  Elms  had  been 
thronged  with  the  elite  of  New  Richmond's  Southern  aris 
tocracy.  Much  wine  was  consumed,  and  many  cigars  were 
smoked.  That  the  South  eventually  would  triumph  was  a 
foregone  conclusion. 

"Let  us  be  brave  and  outspoken  in  the  North,  as  are  our 
brethren  in  the  South,  and  in  a  few  weeks  the  Negro- 

53 


54  AMEEICANS  ALL 

worshiping  Abolitionists  will  be  cringing  at  our  feet.  The 
South  is  invincible.  Even  if  the  South  were  eliminated,  we 
Southerners  in  the  North  could  smite  the  Abolitionists  hip 
and  thigh,  and  win  the  day."  Thus  Dr.  Culpepper  had 
spoken,  and  his  speech  had  been  received  with  prolonged 
applause. 

But  the  following  morning,  when  the  verbal  wine,  and  the 
wine  that  was  red,  had  lost  their  potency,  the  outlook  was 
not  so  roseate. 

Word  came  that,  contrary  to  expectations,  Davis'  inaugu 
ration  had  greatly  angered  and  united  the  North ;  that  tens 
of  thousands  of  Democrats  were  declaring  themselves  ready 
to  fight  for  the  Union ;  that  Missouri,  Kentucky,  and  Mary 
land  were  not  marching  into  the  Confederacy's  fold;  that 
Logan — of  all  men — was  fiercely  rallying  the  clans  of  South 
ern  Illinois  to  the  defense  of  the  Old  Flag;  that  Douglas, 
their  own  "Little  Giant,"  had  proffered  his  sympathy  and 
support  to  Lincoln;  that  German,  Irish,  and  Scandinavian 
papers  everywhere  were  publishing  broadsides  of  denuncia 
tion  of  the  South,  and  appeals  to  their  compatriots  to  rally 
to  the  support  of  Lincoln,  Liberty,  and  the  Union ;  that  the 
entire  diplomatic  corps  at  Washington  was  noncommittal, 
or  openly  hostile  to  the  Southern  Confederacy;  that  every 
Northern  governor  had  telegraphed  his  unswerving  support 
to  Mr.  Lincoln ;  that  all  armories  and  arsenals  were  being 
ransacked  for  munitions  of  war,  and  thai  in  all  the  Northern 
states  the  local  militia  was  being  armed  and  drilled;  that 
provost-marshals  were  being  multiplied  and  clothed  with 
unlimited  authority,  and  that  one  of  them,  Mike  Murphy, 
formerly  a  Chicago  policeman  and  ex-thug,  had  been  ordered 
to  New  Richmond  ;  and  finally,  that  Lincoln  himself,  instead 
of  being  dispirited  and  frightened  by  the  event  at  Mont 
gomery  the  day  before,  had  actually  become  fearless  and 
outspoken,  and  had  declared  he  would  immediately  make  a 


CONSPIRACY  55 

speech-making  tour  of  the  Northern  cities  while  en  route 
to  Washington. 

About  noon  it  was  noised  abroad  that  the  Federal  Gov 
ernment  already  had  a  secret  agent  in  New  Richmond,  "ma 
liciously  and  gleefully  marking  those  who  were  designed  for 
the  slaughter."  Indeed,  it  was  whispered  that  one  of  these 
"minions  of  the  tyrannical  government  at  Washington"  had 
managed  to  be  present  at  the  reception  the  night  before  at 
The  Elms. 

All  these  rumors  of  the  forenoon  were  disquieting  enough, 
and  rumors  never  lose  anything  by  repetition,  but  in  the 
afternoon  there  came  a  postscriptial  rumor  to  the  effect  that 
Federal  troops  were  being  hurried  from  St.  Louis  to  New 
Richmond,  and  would  be  quartered  in  the  Court  House 
square  before  morning. 

But  to  the  Culpeppers  something  more  alarming  had  hap 
pened — a  letter  that  might  justify  serious  charges  had  been 
lost. 

Mrs.  Culpepper,  an  amiable  and  accomplished  lady,  an 
alumna  of  the  ficole  de  1'Etoile  in  Paris,  had  always  been 
very  close  to  her  cousin,  now  president  of  the  Confederate 
States  of  America.  Ever  since  his  departure  from  Hopkins- 
ville,  Kentucky,  to  enter  West  Point,  they  had  corresponded ; 
and  when  he  had  returned  from  time  to  time  to  visit  friends 
and  relatives,  he  had  always  stopped  at  her  father's  house. 
Finally  she  had  married  the  brilliant  Fairfax  Culpepper 
M.  D.,  and  gone  with  him  to  Southern  Illinois,  while  her 
gifted  cousin  had  risen  step  by  step  to  a  place  of  renown  in 
the  army,  in  Congress,  in  the  President's  Cabinet,  and 
finally,  as  the  political  and  spiritual  successor  of  John  C. 
Calhoun,  to  the  leadership  of  the  South.  As  the  stress  of 
feeling  between  the  two  sections  had  increased,  their  corre 
spondence  had  taken  on  new  life  and  vigor;  and  when  he 


56  AMERICANS  ALL 

had  been  elected  to  the  presidency  of  the  new  government, 
she  had  promptly  congratulated  him,  and  asked  his  advice 
as  to  how  she  could  best  promote  the  Cause  so  dear  and 
sacred.  To  this  letter  Mr.  Davis,  in  fullest  confidence,  had 
made  the  following  reply : 

"My  Dear  Charlotte :  Salutations  to  all  of  the  House  of 
Culpepper,  and  a  thousand  good  wishes ! 

"These  are  indeed,  as  you  say,  parlous  times;  but  be  of 
good  cheer,  because  ours  is  a  righteous  Cause  and  cannot 
fail  of  success.  Trials  we  shall  have,  many  of  them,  and — 
war — though  Toombs  and  Rhett  and  Quitman  are  contrary- 
minded.  The  Northerners  will  not  run  like  sheep,  as  even 
you,  dear  Charlotte,  seem  to  think — they  will  fight  like  lions, 
and  they  will  fight  to  a  finish !  I  have  known  them  too  long, 
and  too  intimately,  at  West  Point,  at  Washington,  in  Mex 
ico,  in  Northern  Illinois,  Northern  Missouri,  Iowa,  Wis 
consin,  and  Minnesota,  to  be  mistaken ;  and  I  know  of  what 
stern  stuff  they  are  made — and  how  doggedly  they  will  per 
severe.  It  will  be  a  long  struggle  and  a  hard  struggle — but 
of  the  final  outcome  I  have  no  doubt. 

"You  ask  me  to  advise  you  as  to  how  you,  and  other 
friends  in  the  North,  can  best  aid  the  Southern  Confederacy. 
This  is  a  delicate  thing  for  me  to  do,  for  above  all  things 
do  I  hate  treason;  and  though  several  states  in  their  sover 
eign  capacity  have  absolved  their  citizens  from  allegiance  to 
the  Government  of  the  United  States,  yours  is  not  among 
them — hence,  unless  your  government  should  declare  an 
unholy  war  against  our  government,  it  would  be  wrong — 
sinful — for  you  to  pursue  a  course  that  would  be  inimical  to 
your  government,  and  even  more  reprehensible  for  me  to 
advise,  or  even  countenance,  such  action. 

"However,  in  the  event  of  war,  as  now  threatened,  all 
would  be  changed,  especially  for  me ;  as  to  what  course  you 
should  pursue,  in  that  lamentable  event,  you  must  look  to 
your  Maker  and  your  own  conscience  for  guidance. 

"What  I  write,  therefore,  is  conditional  upon  the  dictates 
of  your  own  conscience,  and  is  strictly  confidential. 

"i.  Be  conciliatory.  Our  Cause  needs  friends.  Whom 
the  gods  would  destroy  they  first  make  mad.  Yield  not  to 


CONSPIRACY  57 

angry  passions.  Suffer  not  the  Abolitionists  to  provoke  you 
to  wrath.  They  are  hot-headed — keep  your  heads  cool! 
Speak  gently,  remembering  that  'a  soft  answer  turneth  away 
wrath.'  We  are  on  probation,  as  the  Methodists  say — let's 
give  a  good  account  of  ourselves.  We  are  charged  with 
'spoiling  for  a  fight.'  Let  us  prove  that  our  constant  yearn 
ing  is  for  peace ! 

"2.  Be  diplomatic.  This  is  no  time  for  'shirt-sleeves 
diplomacy.'  Above  all,  avoid  all  arguments  and  heated 
discussions. 

"3.  Talk  patriotism,  emphasizing  the  truth  that  'treason' 
is  a  word  all  honorable  Americans  abhor.  Allow  that  the  most 
vitriolic  Abolitionists  are  true  patriots — for  such  they  are. 
Claim  for  us — even  our  Toombses,  our  Rhettses,  our  Pryors, 
our  Yanceys — intemperate  as  the  most  violent  Abolitionists 
— the  same  thing ;  for  I  hold  that  we  all,  whether  under  the 
one  or  the  other  flag,  whether  giving  allegiance  to  the  one 
or  the  other  government,  and  despite  all  our  unhappy  dis 
agreements,  nevertheless  are  true  Anglo-Saxons,  true  Amer 
icans,  and  true  patriots.  Instantly  yield  everything  to  our 
adversaries  that  our  adversaries  demand  of  us — courtesy, 
toleration,  willingness  to  listen  to  Reason's  utmost  syllable 
and  punctuation  mark.  Even  more;  meet  insult  with  cour 
tesy,  cruelty  with  kindness,  misrepresentation  with  astonish 
ing  forbearance,  and  boorishness  with  the  high  valor  of  gen 
tle  breeding. 

"4.  Do  not  wantonly  denounce  Mr.  Lincoln,  or  apply  to 
him  opprobrious  epithets.  Entirely  apart  from  all  constitu 
tional  questions,  or  questions  relating  to  ethics  or  political 
economy,  you  must  see  that  he  holds  the  hearts  of  the  yeo 
manry  of  the  North  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  Do  not  assail 
his  manners,  habits,  tastes,  or  personality,  for,  despite  his 
gawkerie  and  uncouthness,  he  is  singularly  winsome  and 
appealing.  We  all  disagree  with  him;  we  feel  that  unwit 
tingly  he  cruelly  misrepresents  us;  we  are  convinced  that 
the  triumph  of  his  policy  and  principles  would  mean  the 
destruction  of  all  that  Washington,  Jefferson,  and  Madison 
held  sacred ;  nevertheless,  dear  Charlotte,  always  remember 
that  Mr.  Lincoln  is  of  Virginia  stock,  like  ourselves  a  Ken- 
tuckian,  at  heart  the  soul  of  gentleness,  at  times  seems  to  be 


58  AMERICANS  ALL 

almost  inspired ;  and  that  of  all  Northerners  he  is  the  wisest, 
shrewdest,  most  diplomatic,  and  will  be  the  hardest  to  win 
over  or  defeat.  Every  jest  at  Mr.  Lincoln's  expense  will  win 
for  him  armies  of  friends;  every  denunciation  of  him  will 
win  for  us  armies  of  enemies." 

There  was  a  postscript,  written  some  days  later,  in  which 
Mr.  Davis  said: 

"War,  dearest  cousin,  is  inevitable.  Our  people  are  beside 
themselves  with  rage  and  fury.  Your  Abolitionists  have  no 
monopoly  of  unreason.  Toombs,  Pollard,  Pryor,  Rhett, 
Walker,  Wigfall,  Yancey,  Mason,  even  the  erstwhile  lamb 
like  Stephens,  are  unquenchable  firebrands,  spreading  the 
perilous  conflagration  in  all  directions.  In  vain  I  have  coun 
seled  against  war;  that  if  we  fight  it  must  be  only  in  self- 
defense;  that  if  we  take  up  arms  it  must  be  only  to  repel 
invasion — in  vain  are  all  our  pleadings.  Indeed  I,  even  7, 
am  looked  on  with  suspicion,  and  my  courage  and  loyalty 
to  the  South  are  called  in  question.  Great  God,  cousin !  My 
situation  is  almost  unendurable,  and  in  my  secret  heart  I 
wish  I  were  well  rid  of  it  all.  Of  only  one  thing  am  I  cer 
tain — war  is  inevitable! 

"I  am  therefore  dispatching  secret  agents  to  the  North — 
principally  to  Missouri,  Illinois,  Indiana,  Ohio,  Pennsyl 
vania,  and  New  York.  One  of  them,  a  young  gentleman  of 
wealth,  culture,  and  the  highest  integrity,  I  am  sending  to 
New  Richmond.  His  mission  is  to  arouse  and  unify  all 
lovers  of  the  South  in  Southern  Illinois ;  to  organize  them, 
into  secret  leagues  or  lodges  that  shall  meet  from  time  to 
time  to  receive  communications  from  me,  and  instruction  in 
the  manual  of  arms ;  to  secretly  enlist  Northern  men  for  serv 
ice  in  our  armies ;  to  dissuade  Northern  men  from  enlisting 
in  the  Federal  army;  to  magnify  and  give  currency  to  all 
mistakes  and  outrages  committed  by  the  agents  of  the  Fed 
eral  Government,  so  as  to  weaken  as  much  as  possible  the 
power  at  Washington ;  to  refute  the  slanders  of  our  enemies, 
and  to  rightfully  state  and  interpret  our  acts,  utterances,  and 
purposes ;  and,  in  fine,  to  sow  dissension  in  the  very  citadel 
of  our  enemies. 


CONSPIEACY  59 

"I  thank  God  every  day  for  such  loyal  and  loving  hearts  as 
yours  and  Fairfax's. 

"Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"JEFFERSON  DAVIS." 

This  was  the  letter  that  had  been  lost. 

When  the  disquieting  news  of  the  anger  of  the  North  had 
come  the  day  before,  the  Culpeppers  naturally  were  very 
much  wrought  up.  It  is  no  aspersion  of  their  courage  to 
say  that  they  were  profoundly  agitated.  Uncertainty  some 
times  causes  the  bravest  to  tremble.  Occasionally  imagina 
tion  "makes  cowards  of  us  all."  If  a  United  States  Mar 
shal  were  en  route  to  New  Richmond,  and  Federal  troops 
a-march,  the  first  tragic  note  of  War's  horrible  overture 
might  be  sounded  on  Northern  territory — even  in  New  Rich 
mond.  And  what  more  natural  than  that  the  vengeance  of 
the  North  should  be  visited  upon  the  kindred  of  the  Head  of 
the  hated  Southern  Confederacy? 

"Oh,  if  Cousin  Jeff's  envoy  were  only  here!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Culpepper.  "There's  none  to  advise  us ;  no  one  cares 
what  becomes  of  us.  Only  last  night  The  Elms  was  thronged ; 
to-day  we're  deserted.  It's  now  almost  noon  and  we've  not 
had  a  caller.  Fair-weather  friends!  Patriots — in  hiding! 
Heroes  in — retreat!  Where's  Judge  Gildersleeve?  I  half 
suspect  he's  a  turn-coat,  and  is  secretly  in  league  with 
the  Abolitionists.  And  Professor  Pinckney?  Yes,  our  St. 
George!  And  the  valorous  Voe  Bijaw,  with  his  roaring 
editorial 'WE'!  And " 

"Hush,  Charlotte,"  said  the  good  Doctor,  soothingly. 
Quoth  Horace :  '*O  navis,  novi  fluctus  referent  in  mare.  O 
quid  agis  ?  Fortiter  occupa  portum.  Nonne  vides  ut  nudum 
latus  remigio.'  Where's  Cousin  Jeff's  letter?  Let's  read  it 
again." 

*O  ship!  new  billows  are  bearing  thee  back  into  the  deep.  Oh! 
what  art  thou  doing!  Eesolutely  seize  the  haven.  Dost  thou  not  see 
how  bare  thy  side  is  of  oarsf 


60  AMERICANS  ALL 

Then  was  the  discovery  made  that  the  letter  had  been  lost, 
or  — stolen. 

Later  in  the  day  a  stranger  had  arrived,  the  sole  pas 
senger  in  the  Enochsburg  stage,  and  put  up  at  the  "City 
Hotel";  and  as  he  had  engaged  board  and  lodging  by  the 
week,  he  had  not  registered;  but  the  proprietor  said  his 
name  was  "Samuel  Simonson,"  and  that  he  was  a  lawyer. 

"Who  is  he,  Nic  ?"  asked  Harold  Culpepper. 

"Oh,  Ah  dunno.  Some  durned  Yank.  W'y,  Hah'ld,  w'at's 
thuh  mattuh  ?  Yuh's  w'ite  ez  uh  sheet." 

"Oh,  nothing,  Nic.  Up  pretty  late  last  night.  A  little  too 
much  liquor,  maybe.  How  do  you  know  he's  a  Yankee  ?" 

"Didn't  yer  heah  hiz  gab?  'Ah'd  rahthcr  have  a  quiet 
room,  please.  Ah  cahn't  imagine  a  finer  site  for  a  city,' " 
making  a  comical  grimace. 

"Nic,  maybe  he's  the  Provost  Marshal." 

"Huh !  Gosh !— d'yer  raickun  ?  But  Ah'll  keep  muh  lan- 
tuhns  on  thut  roostuh." 

"Wish  you  would,  Nic.  And  if  you  learn  anything,  let 
me  know." 

"Roight  Ah  wull,"  proud  to  be  recognized  by  a  Culpepper. 

But  Nic's  services  were  not  needed.  In  less  than  an  hour 
everybody  knew  that  Samuel  Simonson  was  at  the  City 
Hotel;  and  many  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  Mike 
Murphy,  ex-police  thug  of  Chicago,  and  newly  appointed 
United  States  Marshal.  Nor  did  his  brogueless  speech  in 
the  least  lessen  their  conviction. 

Hence  the  young  lawyer's  call  on  Judge  Gildersleeve  in 
the  afternoon  created  a  sensation.  At  first  it  was  rumored 
that  he  had  arrested  the  Judge ;  then  Zed,  the  Judge's  fac 
totum,  reported  that  the  Judge  and  the  stranger  were  having 
a  heart-to-heart  talk  on  politics. 

"An'  hain't  he  'rested  th'  Jedge  yit?" 


CONSPIRACY  61 

"Nuh !    Jis'  seem  lak  brudders." 

This  looked  bad,  and  a  good  many  shook  their  heads. 
The  "Jedge's  lil'ty  t'  th'  Cause"  was  gravely  questioned. 

Later,  when  it  was  learned  that  the  Judge  had  taken  the 
"United  States  Marshal"  home  with  him,  the  wiseacres 
wagged  their  heads. 

When  Harold  Culpepper  took  the  news  to  The  Elms  there 
was  consternation.  Mrs.  Culpepper  was  more  than  ever  con 
vinced  of  the  Judge's  disloyalty,  and  even  the  Doctor  con 
fessed  that  "it  looked  mighty  bad." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Father  ?" 

"What  do  you  advise,  Harold?"  The  Doctor  was  proud 
of  his  son,  and  liked  to  defer  to  him. 

"What  do  you  say,  Mother  ?" 

"Say  on,  Son.  Your  father  isn't  quite  himself  to-day," 
with  a  beaming  smile  for  both  husband  and  son. 

"Well,  here's  my  plan:  I'll  go  down  to  the  Judge's  at 
once.  I  met  Marjorie  on  the  street  this  afternoon  and  she 
was  unusually  gracious;  I  doubt  not  I  shall  be  welcomed 
to  supper  at  The  Maples.  I'll  go  right  down  and  beard  the 
lion  in  hii  den.  If  he  is  really  the  Provost  Marshal,  I'll 
draw  his  fire.  If  he  gets  the  drop  on  me,  and  the  Judge 
doesn't  play  up,  more  than  likely  I'll  be  put  under  arrest. 
By  the  way,  that  wouldn't  be  bad.  'Twould  clear  up  the 
atmosphere  and  end  this  pesky  uncertainty;  too,  it  would 
compel  folks  to  take  sides  and  show  who  are  our  real, 
dependable  friends.  Then  after  supper,  if  you  hear  no  gun 
play,  and  get  no  word  from  me,  gather  a  company  of  our 
friends  and  call,  informally,  at  The  Maples.  Then — well, 
after  that  let  matters  shape  themselves.  What  do  you  say, 
Father?" 

"Capital!" 

"Sister?" 


62  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Fine !"  with  a  little  grimace.  "Quoth  Horace :  **O  Venus, 
Regina  Novae  Richmondi,  fervidus  futuro  sposo  et  gratiae 
nymphaeque  zonis  solutis  properentque  tecum.'  Is  this  just 
a  little  scheme  of  yours,  brother  dear,  to  work  in  an  extra 
evening  with  the  fair  Marjorie?  Or  is  my  brother  just  a  wee 
bit  jealous  of  the  'damned  Yankee'?  Wow!"  And  she  beat 
a  precipitate  retreat. 

"Mother?" 

"You  can  always  be  trusted,  Harold.  But  are  you  sure 
there's  no  danger  ?" 

This  conversation  explains  the  "impromptu"  party  at  The 
Maples,  as  already  recorded,  Harold  Culpepper  arriving  just 
before  the  supper  hour,  and  the  other  "guests"  a  little  later. 

In  the  meantime  the  Jefferson  Davis  letter  had  been  found, 
and  mailed  to  Amsden  Armentrout,  the  blacksmith. 

Armentrout  was  both  unique  and  sui  generis.  He  was 
destitute  of  book-lore,  but  rich  with  the  lore  of  life ;  spoke 
a  hopeless  blend  of  the  rudest  Scotch  dialect  and  the  cur 
rent  lingo,  yet  occasionally  rose  to  astonishing  heights  of 
eloquence ;  in  action  was  as  fierce  and  tempestuous  as  Goth 
or  Vandal,  but  at  heart  was  the  quintessence  of  gentleness 
and  generosity;  chivalrous  toward  women  as  the  Gracchi 
were  to  their  mother,  as  Brutus  was  to  his  wife,  but  always 
studiously  avoided  them.  Withal  he  was  an  uncompromising 
Abolitionist,  and  the  sworn  enemy  of  the  Southern  aristoc 
racy.  Born  and  reared  a  "cracker"  in  East  Tennessee ;  first 
a  Whig  and  then  a  Republican ;  always  fearless  and  out 
spoken  ;  an  ardent  follower  of  Lincoln — the  ultra-Southern 
ers  held  him  in  fierce  detestation.  Could  they  have  done  so 
they  would  have  driven  him  from  town  and  county.  But 
old  Amsden  was  immovable — a  bachelor,  law-abiding,  hard- 


*O  Venus,  Queen  of  New  Richmond,  let  thy  glowing  fiance  and 
the  graces  and  nymphs  with  their  girdles  loosened  hasten  along  with 
thee. 


CONSPIRACY  63 

working,  veteran  of  the  Mexican  war,  always  and  in  every 
thing  the  soul  of  honor,  profane,  yet  in  a  manner  pious  with 
a  decided  "leanin'  t'wurd"  the  Presbyterian  Church,  then 
just  organized  in  New  Richmond,  and  he  had  all  the  sterling 
qualities  of  the  sturdy  Scots. 

The  letter  read  a  second  time,  and  its  purport  thoroughly 
digested,  Amsden  immediately  took  action.  It  was  then 
almost  sundown  but,  he  reflected,  the  early  February  nights 
were  long.  However,  time  was  precious.  A  messenger  was 
sent  to  summons  John  R.  Noss,  a  farmer  living  four  miles 
from  town  on  the  Postville  road.  Noss  was  a  young  man 
of  the  highest  integrity,  of  more  than  average  ability,  well- 
connected,  a  fluent  speaker,  a  stranger  to  fear,  an  open 
Abolitionist  and  original  Lincoln  man  and,  what  Amsden 
liked,  was  always  ready  to  act  "at  the  drop  of  a  hat."  Sev 
eral  others  also  were  summoned,  among  them  Cornelius 
Blavey — slight,  short  of  stature,  always  a  perfect  gentleman, 
brave  as  a  lion,  loyal  to  the  core,  destined  to  become  "Gen 
eral  Blavey,"  sometimes  impetuous,  a  man  after  Amsden's 
own  heart.  Armentrout  lived,  moved  and  had  his  being  in 
a  room  partitioned  off  in  the  rear  of  his  shop';  and  it  was 
'there  they  were  to  meet. 

Thus  while  Dr.  Culpepper  was  confiding  to  Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve  and  others  the  contents  of  the  Davis  letter,  and  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  lost,  and  the  young  lawyer  and  Marjorie 
were  enjoying  themselves  tete-a-tete,  and  Harold,  surprised 
and  discomfited  by  his  fiancee's  conduct,  was  being  left  to 
twiddle  his  fingers,  Amsden  Armentrout  was  laying  before 
his  fellow-Abolitionists  the  letter,  bearing  the  New  Rich 
mond  postmark,  which  had  come  to  him,  anonymously, 
through  the  mail. 

"Who's  Samuel  Simonson,"  and  "Wait  for  developments," 
were  the  themes  and  watchwords  of  both  meetings. 

Dr.  Culpepper  and  his  friends  were  more  than  half  per- 


34  AMERICANS  ALL 

suaded  that  "Samuel  Simonson"  was  an  alias,  and  that  he 
was  the  threatened  United  States  marshal ;  at  the  same  time 
Armentrout,  with  far  better  grounds  for  his  faith,  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  the  aforesaid  young  man  was  the  promised 
emissary  of  Jefferson  Davis. 

An  eavesdropper,  hearing  only  the  words  emphasized, 
could  not  have  distinguished  the  one  meeting  from  the  other. 
"Mum,"  "we  must  not  be  precipitate,"  "wait  till  they  show 
their  hands,"  "traitor,"  "patriot,"  "officer,"  "persecution," 
"outrage,"  "spy,"  "incognito,"  "snap  judgment,"  "stretch 
hemp,"  "provost-marshal,"  "dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  "no 
time  to  be  squeamish" — verbally,  phraseologically,  and  in 
spirit,  the  meetings  were  identical ;  but  in  all  else  they  were 
as  nadir  and  zenith,  as  Capricorn  and  cancer,  as  the  solstices 
of  summer  and  winter. 

Were  thoughts  telepathetically  communicated  Simonson 
would  have  been  too  distracted  to  have  engaged  in  psychic 
joust  with  the  Judge's  daughter;  and  did  ears  burn  when 
their  owners  are  talked  about  his  ears  would  have  been 
incinerated,  and  there  would  have  been  no  raptured  tym 
panum  to  thrill  at  the  dainty  tappings  of  Marjorie's  gracious 
words. 

But  the  meeting  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's  was  by  far  the 
more  anxious.  An  implicating  letter,  from  their  view  point 
both  innocently  written  and  received,  had  been  lost — but 
how  would  the  Abolitionists  regard  it  in  the  not  unlikely 
event  of  its  falling  into  their  hands  ?  There  could  be  but  one 
answer — treason.  Dr.  Culpepper  was  a  brave  man,  none 
braver  ever  lived,  but  his  face  was  ashen  and  his  voice  was 
tremulous  as,  looking  from  face  to  face  as  if  for  sympathy, 
he  said,  "Already  perhaps  I  and  my  family  are  being  pro 
claimed  outlaws,  aiders  and  abettors  of  treason;  tomorrow 
we  may  be  haled  to  judgment  and  a  felon's  cell;  after 
that "  The  sentence  remained  unfinished. 


CONSPIRACY  65 

"And  yet  I  love  my  country,"  he  presently  resumed,  "as  I 
love  my  life.  It  is  the  land  of  my  fathers.  My  kinsmen 
have  fought  in  every  war  that  has  been  waged  for  its 
preservation;  and  in  every  war  some  of  my  kinsmen  have 
laid  down  their  lives.  In  my  sacred  archives  are  three 
commissions,  signed  by  Washington,  Jackson,  and  Taylor, 
my  great-grandfather,  grandfather,  and  father  being  thus 
honored.  Slavery?  I  hate  it.  You  gentlemen  know  that 
ten  years  ago,  back  in  Kentucky,  I  freed  my  slaves — without 
compensation.  Yesterday  I  told  Harold  to  take  down  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  that  Charlotte  always  keeps  draped  about 
the  picture  o\  the  great  Culpepper,  my  great-grandfather. 
I  had  been  reading  the  speeches  of  Lincoln  and  Seward, 
and  a  vicious  editorial  by  Horace  Greeley,  vilely  aspersing 
and  misrepresenting  our  people;  and  I  felt  that  their  flag 
could  no  longer  be  my  flag.  But  when  Harold  said,  holding 
it  in  his  hand,  'What  shall  I  do  with  it,  father?  Throw  it 
in  the  fire?'  my  eyes  were  suddenly  dim  with  tears;  and  I 
caught  it  up,  lifted  it  to  my  lips,  and  kissed  it  again  and 
again.  Yes,  and  I'm  not  ashamed  to  confess  it.  And  I  said, 
'No,  Harold ;  fold  it  up  gently  and  lay  it.  away.  Some  day 
reason  and  tolerance  may  return  to  my  countrymen  and  once 
more  we  can  proudly  unfold  it  to  receive  the  kisses  of  the 
wind,  and  the  benediction  of  the  skies.  For  it  has  a  great 
and  glorious  history  and  I  love  it,  love  it,  even  as  I  love  my 
life.'  Nor  do  Lincoln  and  Seward  and  Greeley  love  this 
glorious  Republic  one  whit  more  than  I  do — and  the  Lees 
and  Johnsons  and  Jackson  and  Alexander  Stephens.  But 
they  cruelly  lock  the  door  of  exit,  wisely  and  magnani 
mously  left  open  by  our  fathers,  and  now  tauntingly  declare 
we  sfiall  not  depart.  More:  because  we  wish  to  avail  our 
selves  of  our  inalienable  Constitutional  right,  openly  pro 
claimed  by  our  fathers  and  never  before  denied  or  called 
in  question,  we  are  stigmatized  as  wreckers  of  the  Consti- 


66  AMEKICANS  ALL 

tution,  and  as  traitors  to  our  country.  However,  we  will 
practice  patience  and  pray  to  the  God  of  our  Fathers  for 
deliverance.  Quoth  Horace,  *'Durum,  sed  quidquid  est 
nefas  corrigere  fit  levins  patientia.' " 

*  It  is  hard,  but  whatever  is  impossible  to  rectify  becomes  more 
supportable  by  patience. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  DAVIS  EMISSARY.      VIRGINIA  LEE  CULPEPPER 

IN  the  meantime  Jefferson  Davis'  emissary  had  arrived, 
incognito. 

He  had  planned  to  assume  the  role  of  a  bluff,  opulent, 
convivial  New  Yorker,  representing  a  mysterious  railroad 
syndicate.  The  idea  was  exceedingly  well  conceived  as  the 
people  of  Raleigh  County  had  long  desired  a  railroad  from 
St.  Louis  to  New  Richmond,  and  thence,  by  converging 
lines,  to  Louisville,  and  Evansville,  or  Cincinnati,  the  latter 
preferred.  Hence  a  capitalist,  or  a  representative  of  capital 
ists,  would  be  certain  of  a  hearty  welcome,  regardless  of 
politics  or  party  affiliations,  and  the  most  generous  assist 
ance  in  studying  the  topography  and  resources  of  the  sur 
rounding  country.  This  role  would  also  have  accounted 
for  his  easy  camaraderie  with  the  Culpeppers,  Gildersleeves, 
Goldbecks,  and  other  Southern  families,  as  they  were  the 
largest  landowners  and  wealthiest  people  in  that  part  of 
the  state. 

But  at  Enochsburg  he  had  heard  of  the  lost  Davis  letter 
and  at  once  saw  that  this  plan  would  not  be  feasible.  To 
pose  as  a  rich  man,  and  openly  be  on  intimate  terms  with 
Davis'  cousin  and  her  aristocratic  coterie  would  now,  under 
the  changed  conditions,  arouse  suspicion. 

Happily  for  him,  and  the  hazardous  mission  he  was  on, 
he  was  not  only  a  gentleman  of  culture  but,  also,  a  resource 
ful  actor.  Born  in  New  Orleans,  boasting  the  blood  of 
Raoul  Innerarity  and  of  Jules  St.  Ange,  christened  Fuentes 

67 


68  AMERICANS  ALL 

Fontennette  by  his  parents,  but  to  be  known  in  this  narrative 
by  his  self-chosen  pseudonym,  Felix  Palfrey,  educated  in 
the  New  Orleans  Jesuit  College  and  at  the  ficole  des  Beaux 
Arts  in  Paris,  skilled  with  sword  and  firearms,  brave  and 
self-possessed,  fine  looking  and  with  a  certain  air  of  distinc 
tion,  and  blest  with  an  abundance  of  worldly  goods,  Presi 
dent  Davis  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  representative. 

"And  so,  my  lad,"  he  said  to  himself,  "you're  not  to  be 
an  opulent  railroad  promoter  but — what  then?"  He  was 
plunged  in  deep  thought,  perplexed,  brow-wrinkled.  Pres 
ently  his  face  lighted  up.  "I  have  it.  I'll  throw  everybody 
off  his  guard,  even  the  Culpeppers,  till  I've  taken  my  reckon 
ing.  I'll  pose  as  a  teacher  of  music  and  languages — poor,  of 
course.  Let's  see,  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian — and  the 
piano.  But  my  patois,  for  my  English  must  be  broken,  is 
mainly  Creole — though  a  little  of  everything.  Can  I  evade 
suspicion?  I  must!  As  to  my  playing  on  the  piano" — 
he  was  shrugging  his  shoulders  now  like  the  true  Latin — 
"oui,  oui !  ah,  non !  assurement,  bud  nud  zo  ver',  ah,  bueno. 
Zee  graid  teach-mre  he  nud  play  zo  ver'  mooch.  'E  'ah've 
nud  zee — ah,  el  tiempo  to  brac-teez"  He  broke  into  a 
merry  laugh. 

And  so,  "zee,  ah,  nuoves  teach-atV^  oov  moo-zik  an'  lang- 
widge' "  came  to  New  Richmond  unheralded,  unmet,  unwel- 
comed,  and  struggling  terribly  "veez  yo'  zo  ver'  strenge 
\ang-zuidge."  In  New  Orleans  such  a  variegated  patois, 
such  a  hurdy-gurdy  of  Gallic  potpourri,  would  have  excited 
shrieks  of  laughter — and  none  would  have  laughed  more 
heartily  than  a  certain  Felix  Paufrey,  "zee  teach-atV?." 

The  selection  of  this  role  proved  to  be  a  stroke  of  genius. 
Only  a  New  Orleans  Creole — at  once  a  gentleman,  man  of 
the  world,  linguist,  and  master  of  an  amazingly  kaleido 
scopic  patois — could  have  played  the  part. 

Felix  Palfrey  was  apparently  so  guileless,  so  unaffected, 


THE  DAVIS  EMISSARY  69 

so  unsophisticated,  so  eager  to  please,  so  utterly  absorbed  in 
"moo-sik  an'  zee  lang-widge,'  "  he  was  immensely  appealing. 
His  ignorance  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  world — 'I  cann* 
r-read  zee  Ingles  pa-pairs'  so  ver'  gud" — added  even  a 
touch  of  pathos  to  his  personality. 

With  all  this  he  combined  a  touch  of  quaint  and  irresistible 
humor,  and  some  of  his  remarks  instantly  became  current. 
Felix  also  played  the  piano  superbly,  sang  French,  Span 
ish,  and  Italian  songs  capitally,  conversed  delightfully  with 
the  few  who  understood  the  Latin  languages,  and  was  soon 
deluged  with  social  invitations — to  all  of  which  he  responded, 
seemingly  animated  solely  by  a  desire  to  afford  pleasure,  and 
to  awaken  an  increased  interest  in  "moo-sik  an'  zee  lang- 
widge." 

But  all  the  while  his  keen  eyes  and  ears  were  on  the  alert. 

Though  the  Abolitionists  were  by  no  means  rich  or  influ 
ential  or  accomplished  he  made  himself  especially  agreeable 
to  them,  much  to  the  surprise  and  dissatisfaction  of  the 
Southern  families  who  would  have  monopolized  him.  But 
he  was  so  much  interested  in  "Mees-taire  Leen-coon  an* 
heez  preen-ce-pal,  an'  zee  parlar  oov  var-r,  an'  vat  eet  ees 
all  a6-oot,  an'  vat  zee  Nort'  een-tend  do-een  o&-oot  eet,"  he 
"moost  vees-^£  an'  parlar  veez  Messeurs,  ah  Armeen-feesh, 
eh,  I  tzee,  troot,  Armentroot,  an'  Noz,  an'  Rla-vee,  an'  zee 
ooth-aire  gentl'fw^w." 

The  Abolitionists  never  dreaming  that  their  brogue-tan 
gled,  ever-astonished,  pathetically-appealing  inquisitor  was 
one  of  the  astutest  men  of  the  South — slave-owner,  uncom 
promising  Secessionist,  and  Achates  to  Jefferson  Davis — 
answered  his  questions  without  reservation.  Indeed  his 
apparent  helplessness,  bewilderment,  ignorance  of  every 
thing  American,  and  mute  admiration  of  Mr.  Lincoln  and 
his  principles,  moved  them  to  go  into  minuter  details  than 


70  AMERICANS  ALL 

they  otherwise  would  have  done  had  he  not  been,  as  they 
supposed,  a  foreigner. 

Indeed  one  evening  he  was  invited  to  the  residence  of 
Cornelius  Blavey,  where  a  certain  Mr.  Cullom,  who  had 
come  from  Springfield  on  a  special  mission  for  Mr.  Lincoln, 
was  a  guest — and  "Mees-taire  Kool-m  een  hees  conver- 
sati-oan"  added  materially  to  the  information,  some  of  it  of 
a  vital  character,  of  a  certain  Mr.  Fuentes  Fontennette, 
alias  Monsieur  Felix  Palfrey,  "late  of  Paris,  France." 

Returning  to  his  humble  room  that  night,  and  making 
sure  that  his  door  was  locked  and  the  curtains  drawn,  he 
indulged  in  several  joyful  gyratory  motions.  Evidently  he 
was  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind. 

"I've  been  here  only  a  week,"  he  chuckled,  "and  I've  met 
the  Blaveys,  Nosses,  and  old  Amsden;  in  short,  every  lead 
ing  damned  Lincoln  worshiper  in  New  Richmond,  and — 
Mr.  Shelby  M.  Cullom,  envoy-extraordinary  from  the 
Tyrant.  And  I  guess  I've  about  pumped  them  dry.  Phew ! 
They  all  reek  with  villainous  odors — fish,  and  onions,  and — 
what  is  it? — yes,  hog's-jaw  and  greens!  Quoth  the  vinegary 
and  peppery  old  Amsden :  'Mosher  er  Musher  er  Mewtzher 
Pahlfrey — hoo  th'  hell  div  ye  pr'noonce  it  onyhow  ?  Div  ye 
hae  hog's-jaw  'n'  greens  'n  Pahrse?  Thocht  ye  mout  hae. 
Michty  feen  eatin' !'  Ye  gods !" 

And  again  the  room  echoed  with  mellow  laughter,  and 
the  small  mirror  on  the  wall  reflected  a  very  happy  and 
triumphant  face. 

The  rest  of  the  night  was  devoted  to  the  writing  of  a  long 
and  carefully-considered  letter  to  Jefferson  Davis  in  which 
he  said: 

"I  want  to  confess  to  you,  President  Davis,  that  you  were 
wholly  right  regarding  these  Northern  Abolitionists,  and  I 
was  wholly  mistaken.  As  you  have  always  maintained — 
always  to  my  amusement,  and  sometimes  to  my  vexation — 


THE  DAVIS  EMISSARY  71 

with  all  their  uncouthness  and  defiance  of  the  ordinary 
graces  and  amenities  of  social  intercourse,  they  are  a  brave, 
self-respecting,  God-fearing  people,  fierce  as  Cromwell's 
Ironsides,  relentless  as  the  old  New  England  Puritans,  and 
— they  will  fight!  Much  as  I  hate  their  principles,  despise 
as  I  do  their  damnable  doctrines,  praying  as  I  always  do 
that  the  God  of  our  Fathers  may  put  them  to  confusion  and 
bring  all  their  counsels  to  naught,  I  cannot  keep  from  admir 
ing  them.  After  all  they  are  Americans  and,  though  at 
present  in  the  wrong,  I  am  proud  of  their  stalwart  manhood 
and  conscientiousness.  Defeat  them,  of  course  we  shall, 
must,  and  I  now  see  that  the  conflict  is  close  at  hand;  but 
dear  Chieftain,  they  will  prove  themselves  worthy  of  our 
sternest  steel." 

Now  for  a  week  he  focused  his  attention  on  the  Southern 
sympathizers,  accepting  invitations  to  their  homes,  skill 
fully  drawing  them  out  in  conversation,  keenly  scrutinizing 
every  newspaper,  but  still  remaining  incognito,  and  then 
wrote  again  to  the  President : 

"Our  people  in  Southern  Illinois  are  brave  but  too  out 
spoken,  too  undiplomatic,  too  abusive  of  Lincoln.  They  are 
blind  to  the  drift  of  public  sentiment,  even  among  Douglas 
Democrats.  Logan  is  making  amazingly  effective  Union 
speeches,  winning  converts  by  hundreds  and  thousands — but 
to  them  this  has  no  significance.  Even  your  esteemed 
cousin,  the  noble  and  erudite  Dr.  Culpepper,  seems  to  have 
lost  his  reason.  Then  the  letter  you  wrote  to  your  charming 
and  accomplished  Cousin  Charlotte — was  it  prudent  to  write 
such  a  letter? — is  lost.  I  do  not  know  who  found  it,  or  by 
whom  it  is  held,  but  I  do  know  that  it  is  in  the  hands  of 
our  enemies.  One  thing  is  certain,  I  must  take  our  people 
in  hand,  and  I  must  act  at  once." 

Palfrey,  doubly  depressed,  had  one  consolation — his  dis 
guise  was  effective.  He  knew  everyone  was  on  the  lookout 


72  AMERICANS  ALL 

for  Davis'  representative,  and  that  a  certain  Samuel  Simon- 
son  was  under  surveillance;  but  thus  far  he  had  escaped 
suspicion.  Could  he  still  keep  up  the  disguise  now  that  he 
was  to  begin  active  work?  Could  he  trust  his  Southern 
confreres,  rash  and  impetuous,  not  to  inadvertently  reveal 
his  identity?  "But  I  have  crossed  the  Rubicon,"  he  grimly 
remarked  to  himself,  "and  I  cannot  turn  back." 

On  his  table  lay  an  invitation  to  dine  that  evening  at  The 
Elms.  He  took  it  up,  read  it,  and  proceeded  to  answer  it. 
In  choicest  French  he  accepted  it  on  condition  that  the 
dinner  be  strictly  en  familie,  as  he  wished  to  communicate 
to  them  a  matter  of  gravest  importance. 

"Ah  Vair-geen-ia. !  Zee  leetl'  moo-zik  mas-taire  he  ver* 
clev-aire,  ah,  hombre.  I  like  heem." 

"Don't  tease  your  sister,  Harold,"  said  Mrs.  Culpepper, 
looking  up  with  a  roguish  smile,  while  the  Doctor  snorted, 
"Damned  dawdler!  Doing  nothing  but  strangle  on  lan 
guages,  and  spiel  his  infernal  classical  'moo-zic.'  Pity  'zee 
ol'  mas-taire'  didn't  die  before  they  were  born.  'Mas-tatVr 
pee-zis!'  Nothing  but  damned  jargon !  What  we  now  need 
are  men,  not  poodles,"  and  he  strode  out  of  the  room. 

Had  the  Doctor  had  eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head,  and  the 
door  been  of  glass,  he  would  have  seen  "Vair-geen-ia" 
saucily  making  faces  at  him,  and  his  son  holding  a  very 
proud  and  happy  mother  in  his  arms,  and  declaring  that 
the  "Guv'ner  is  the  corkingest  old  chap  that  ever  lived." 

"Besides  you  know,  Mother,"  he  continued,  "the  pater 
thinks  as  much  of  Palfrey  as  we  do ;  and  we  know  that  'zee 
leet'l  mas-taire  eez  una,  ah,  thoroughbred — don't  we,  Ver- 
g\e?"  Whereupon  a  very  indignant  sister  chased  her 
brother  from  the  room. 

It  chanced  that  the  Doctor  himself  responded  to  the  ring 
ing  of  the  doorbell  that  evening  a  little  before  seven. 


THE  DAVIS  EMISSARY  73 

"Come  in !"  was  followed  by  a  gruff  and  angry,  "Who  the 
devil  are  you,  anyway?" 

"Hush,  Doctor,"  said  a  calm  but  authoritative  voice. 
"Lock  the  door,  and  see  that  all  the  blinds  are  drawn.  Am 
I  the  only  guest?" 

"But  who  the  hell  are  you?"  again  boomed  the  Doctor. 
"We're  expecting  Palfrey,  the  music  teacher,  but  it  seems 
that  in  his  stead  we've  got  his  double." 

"Not  so  loud,  good  Doctor,"  again  came  the  calm,  even 
command.  "Here's  my  card.  These  are  my  credentials. 
You  will  kindly  return  my  card  and  credentials  when  you've 
inspected  them.  The  light  is  better  in  the  parlor,"  with  a 
quiet  smile  and  significant  nod,  while  the  Doctor  fumbled  in 
his  pocket  for  his  glasses. 

"Hades!"  he  sputtered  for  want  of  something  suitable 
to  the  occasion.  "Quoth  Horace,  yes  quoth  the — the 
immortal  vintner,  ah  yes:  *'Quod  marenon  caedes  Dauniae 
decoloravere  ?  Quae  ora  caret  nostro  cruore?  Sed  ne, 
procax  Musa,  relictis  jocis,  retractes  munera  Ceae  naeniae; 
sub  antro  Dinaeo,  mecum  quaere  modes  leviore  plectro.'  " 

"Madam,"  said  Palfrey,  bowing  low  to  his  hostess,  who, 
astonished  at  the  unexpected  scene,  had  suddenly  paused 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  and  including  her  son  and 
daughter  in  his  gracious  glance  and  genuflexion,  "I  must 
beseech  your  generous  heart  to  pardon  a  deception  which, 
though  innocent  and  necessary,  I  have  not  ceased  to  regret 
since  the  first  moment  it  was  my  privilege  and  happiness  to 
lay  my  homage  at  your  shrine.  More  than  this  it  would  not 
be  proper  for  me  to  say  until  my  credentials  have  been 
passed  upon  by  your  honorable  husband,  and  I  have  been 

*  What  sea  has  not  the  blood  of  Romans  discolored?  What  coast 
is  unstained  by  our  gore?  But  do  not,  presumptuous  Muse,  abandon 
sportive  themes,  and  resume  the  task  of  the  Csean  dirge;  but  be 
neath  some  grotto  sacred  to  Venus,  with  me  seek  measures  of  a 
lighter  strain. 


74  AMERICANS  ALL 

assured  of  the  forgiveness  and  gracious  favor  of  the  cousin 
of  the  illustrious  Jefferson  Davis,  President,  by  the  Grace  of 
God,  and  the  Sovereign  Will  of  the  liberty-loving,  God 
fearing  people,  of  the  Confederate  States  of  America ;  who 
has  honored  me  for  years  with  perhaps  an  unusual  measure 
of  his  confidence,  and  now  has  signally  honored  me  by  send 
ing  me  as  his  personal  representative  to  New  Richmond." 

It  was  a  dramatic  moment — a  scene  from  a  thrilling 
drama  in  real  life.  The  erstwhile  "teach-air^  oov  moo-zik 
an'  lang-widge'  "  stood  before  them,  exceedingly  stately,  in 
full  evening  dress  de  rigeur,  opera  hat  in  one  hand,  cane 
in  the  other,  an  opera  cloak  with  Spanish  cape  on  his  left 
arm — as  many  times  he  had  appeared  in  the  fashionable 
drawing-rooms  of  the  Old  World.  His  linen  was  of  the 
finest  quality  and  immaculate,  and  in  the  center  of  his  bosom 
there  glowed  a  diamond,  green-blue  and  lustrous.  He  wore 
but  a  single  ring,  a  rare  ruby  on  the  second  finger  of  the  left 
hand — seemingly  a  gold-bordered  fleck  of  blood,  greatly 
heightening  the  beauty  of  his  shapely  hand.  His  head  was 
uncommonly  large  and  not  unlike  that  of  the  younger 
Dumas,  then  at  the  zenith  of  his  fame,  and  for  a  young 
man  the  face  of  the  Davis  envoy  was  strikingly  benevolent. 

But  his  stately  speech  and  bearing  were  the  most  aston 
ishing  transformations.  Now  there  were  no  grimaces  or 
shruggings  of  the  shoulders,  no  deprecating  gestures  or 
explanations,  no  pauses  for  words,  no  hal tings  for  correct 
pronunciation  of  words,  or  construction  of  phrases  or 
sentences. 

"Welcome,  sir,  thrice  welcome !  Quoth  Horace :  *'Odi 
profanum  vulgus,  et  arceo,'  but  you  are  more  than  welcome 
— for  yourself,  for  the  great  and  good  man  whose  ambas 
sador  you  are,  and  for  the  glorious  cause  you  represent. 
Here  in  New  Richmond  we  are  in  deep  distress  but  we  are 

*  I  detest  the  vulgar  rabble,  and  I  repel  them. 


THE  DAVIS  EMISSARY  75 

undismayed.  Quoth  Horace,  *'Non  ardor  civium  jubentium 
prava,  non  vultus  instantis  tyranni,  nee  magna  manus  Jovis 
fulminantis  quatet  solida  mente  virum  justum  ac  tenacem, 
propositi.'  But  come;  dinner  is  waiting." 

Before  retiring  that  night  Felix  Palfrey  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  his  mother.  Only  the  following  paragraphs,  how 
ever,  will  be  of  special  interest  to  the  reader: 

"I  have  been  here  two  weeks  and  I  frankly  confess  that 
I  am  puzzled.  Do  not  think,  my  dear  mother,  that  I  am 
losing  courage  or  loyalty,  though  I  may  have  lost  my — but 
let  that  pass  for  the  present;  besides  I  know  you  would 
laugh  at  me  and  call  me  all  sorts  of  funny  names,  in  your 
own  dear  way,  if  I  were  to  tell  you. 

"But  these  Abolitionists — they  are  so  honest  and  earnest 
and  conscientious  if  I  were  not  a  confirmed  Secessionist 
they  would  convert  me  to  their  way  of  thinking.  Oh,  yes ; 
they  are  harsh-voiced,  awfully  overbearing1,  dreadfully  self- 
opinionated,  but  still  they  are  brave,  true,  patriotic  men; 
and  I  like  them  and  honor  them.  And  you  should  hear 
them  pray  and  preach.  They  shriek  and  scream  and  drink 
water  in  the  pulpit  from  a  gourd,  and  stamp  their  feet,  and 
froth  at  the  mouth,  and  pound  the  Bible  with  clenched  fists, 
and  pray  for  our  destruction  and  damnation — Oh,  it's  hor 
rible!  But  dolcissima  madre,  they  are  sincere;  and  some 
times  I  wonder — but  what's  the  use  to  speculate?  Certain 
it  is,  however,  we  shall  have  war,  bloody  war,  a  long  war — 
but  we  are  in  the  right,  and  surely  the  good  God  will  give 
us  the  victory. 

"But  in  the  midst  of  wild  rumors,  and  my  own  plottings, 
I  have  been  sorely  wounded.  And  the  precious  villain? 
Why,  Cupid — would  you  have  believed  it?  Dear  old  Dan 
Cupid  who  never  before  has  leveled  an  arrow  at  me.  Is  my 
wound  serious?  Dangerous?  Alas,  how  can  I  tell  when 
this  is  my  first  casualty?  But  I  fear  it  is  very  serious. 


*  Neither  the  frenzy  of  his  fellow-citizens  ordering  evil  deeds,  nor 
the  countenance  of  the  threatening  tyrant,  nor  the  mighty  hand  of 
Jove  wielding  his  thunderbolts,  shakes  from  his  settled  purpose  the 
man  who  is  just  and  firm  in  his  resolution. 


76  AMERICANS  ALL 

Indeed  something  tells  me  I  am  pierced  clear  through,  and 
that  I  am  doomed  never  to  get  over  it.  And  yet  it  is  so 
delicious ;  and  I  am  so  glad  it  has  happened !  Describe  her? 
Ah,  what  devotee  can  adequately  describe  his  deity?  Of 
what  type  of  beauty  ?  Thank  heaven,  now  I  can  answer  you 
sanely.  She's  a — a  composite,  a  blend,  a  combination  of  the 
best  tints  and  features  of  all,  with  the  defects  and  common 
places  of  every  other  type  omitted.  There !  Please,  madre 
dolcissima,  forgive  all  this  raging  rhodomontade,  this  pueril- 
est  of  puerile  gasconade,  and  only  remember  that  my  sweet 
est  sweetheart  ever  will  be  the  one  to  whom  I  am  now  writ 
ing  ;  and  that  your  unworthy  Felix  will  be  very  un-Felix  till 
he  looks  into  her  face  again,  and  holds  her  in  his  arms  once 
more. 

"P.  S. — Her  name  is  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper." 

At  the  same  time  another  letter  was  being  written.  It 
was  very  much  underscored,  and  there  were  many  inter 
lineations  ;  and  as  is  usually  the  case,  when  a  woman  writes, 
the  main  essential  part  of  the  letter  was  in  the  postscript, 

"And,  O  Freda,  he's  come — my  Prince!  I'm  so  happy, 
why  it  just  seems  that  I  shall,  shall — fly  away!  He  was  at 
The  Elms  for  supper  tonight  and  I  was  so  happy  and  con 
fused  that  I  actually  put  a  spoonful  of  picklelily  in  my  tea! 
I  just  thought  I  should  scream.  And  I  think  he,  too,  wasn't 
quite  himself,  for  he,  while  gravely  listening  to  one  of 
Papa's  'Quoth  Horace's,'  actually  began  dashing  tabasco 
sauce  on  his  rice.  Of  course  I  quietly  handed  him  the  salt 
and  sugar,  with  just  a  wee  bit  of  a  smile,  and  what  do  you 
think?  He  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice,  'Do  you  prefer 
picklelily  to  lemon- juice  in  your  leaf  and  there  was  an 
awfully  roguish  look  in  his  eyes.  And  when  Harold,  the 
mean  thing,  gave  my  foot  a  rat-a-tap  under  the  table  I  could 
hardly  keep  from  giggling.  And  he's  such  a  dear,  and  a 
thorough-goin^  Secessionist.  Who  is  he?  I'm  just  dying 
to  tell  you  but  I  can't — at  least  for  a  long,  long  time.  Antf 
he's  so  just  and  considerate!  Why  he  talks  about  these 
Star-Spangled-Banner,  Union-forever  fanatics  as  though 
they  were  the — the  salt  of  the  earth.  Even  sees  much  to 


THE  DAVIS  EMISSARY  77 

admire  in  Lincoln,  the  old  ogre.  Gives  everybody  the  bene 
fit  of  the  doubt.  See?  And  Patriotism — well  you  should 
hear  him  talk,  only  he  refuses  to  side  in  with  Quoth  Horace 
in  the  belief  that  all  patriotism,  and  virtue,  and  bravery  are 
confined  to  the  South.  'Your  neighbors,  Doctor,  are  just  as 
true  patriots,  just  as  brave,  just  as  conscientious,  as  we  are 
only,  they  are  mistaken,  deceived,  led  astray  by  the  New 
England  Abolitionists.'  And  then  you  should  have  heard 
Quoth  Horace  snort — but  finally  he  had  to  yield  a  reluctant 
acquiescence.  'Guess  you're  right,  but  gad,  I  hate  'em  any 
way!'  Wasn't  that  just  like  dear  old  Papa?  And  then  I 
thought  I  must  say  something  to  smooth  things  over,  but 
Harold  frowned  at  me  and  I  knew  that  meant,  'Let  old 
Quoth  Horace  alone;  he's  all  right!'  Of  course  whatever 
Papa  says  or  does  is  all  right  with  Harold — they're  such 
chums!  But  he — Oh,  he  was  fine — said  with  a  voice  smooth 
and  even  as  a  diamond's  surface,  yet  soft  as  velvet,  'I  do  not 
wonder,  Doctor,  that  you  are  sensitive  and  greatly  exas 
perated.  Even  I  sometimes  almost  wish  the  earth  would 
tip  up  and  spill  them  all  into  the  Polar  sea,  or  yawn  and 
swallow  them ;  still  we  must  not  oppose  unreason  to  unrea 
son,  or  intolerance  to  intolerance,  or  combat  violence  with 
violence.  You  know,  Doctor,  we  Southerners  are  a  brave, 
gentle,  chivalrous  people,  with  a  great  and  glorious  Past; 
and  now  we  must  not  forget  to  be  just.' 

"But  sweetest  of  all  was  it  to  hear  him  speak  of  his 
mother — and  her  name's  Virginia,  too!  Oh,  I  wonder  if 
she  ever  could  like  me!  But  how  I  do  gabble — for  he's 
never  said  a  word  to  me  about  love.  But  he  did  hold  my 
hand  a  wee  bit  too  long  tonight  when  he  was  leaving,  and 
there  was  such  an  appealing  look  in  his  eyes  ! 

"Now  do  hurry  home,  dear,  for  I've  ever  and  ever  so 
much  I  want  to  tell  you.  Ever  your  own — 

"VERGIE  CULPEPPER." 


CHAPTER  VI 
LINCOLN'S  TWO  FRIENDS  HORS  DE  COMBAT 

THE  morning  after  the  Davis  letter  had  been  lost  and 
found,  and  the  two  evening  conferences,  at  Armen- 
trout's  room,  and  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's  residence,  New 
Richmond  had  another  sensation,  this  time  emanating  from 
the  post  office. 

A  letter  addressed  to  "Samuel  Simonson,  Esq.,"  had  been 
received.  As  the  patrons  of  the  office  were  comparatively 
few  Hank  Gordon,  the  postmaster,  and  his  assistant,  Miss 
Mamie  Wells,  knew  almost  every  patron  both  by  sight  and 
name;  hence  to  receive  a  piece  of  mail  addressed  to  an 
unknown  party  arose  to  the  dignity  of  an  event. 

"Mr.  Gordon,  who's  Samuel  Simonson,  Esquire?" 

"Lives  down  neah  Fa'hhaven." 

"No,  that's  Abe;  this  is  Samuel." 

"Sho  'miff !  Let's  see  it.  Jerusalem  blazes !  That's  f 'm 
Abe  Lincoln.  How  do  Ah  know?  Seen  'iz  writin'  a  thou- 
san'  times.  Uster  tote  a  chain  foh  'im  w'en  'e  wuz  suhveyin' 
up  'n'  Sang'mon  County.  W'y  heah,"  rummaging  in  a  drawer, 
"iz  a  lettuh  'e  writ  ten  y'ar  uhgo  w'en  Linda  'n'  meh  wuz 
mahr'd.  Let's  compah  'urn."  The  writing  was  identical. 

"But  who  th'  sam  hill  is  Samuel  Simonson?"  he  queried, 
cudgeling  his  brain. 

At  that  moment  a  stranger  approached  and  asked  if  there 
was  any  mail  for  "Samuel  Simonson." 

The  postmaster  stepped  to  the  general-delivery  window 
and  said,  "Is  yo'  name  Samuel  Simonson  ?" 

78 


LINCOLN'S  TWO  FRIENDS  79 

"It  is." 

"Wha  yo'  stoppin',  Mistuh  Simonson?  See  we  hev  to  be 
uh  leetle  keerful  'bout  runnin'  Uncle  Sam's  biznis." 

"Certainly — quite  correct,  too.  I'm  a  newcomer,  and  I'm 
stopping  with  your  boniface,  Mr.  Tutwiler.  I  guess  hell 
identify  me." 

It  wasn't  necessary.  Having  carefully  inspected  the 
stranger  the  postmaster  passed  out  the  letter.  To  his  sur 
prise  the  handwriting  seemed  to  have  no  significance  to 
Samuel  Simonson,  who,  leisurely  putting  it  in  his  pocket, 
sauntered  back  to  the  hotel. 

The  young  lawyer  had  just  seated  himself  in  his  office, 
preparatory  to  reading  his  letter,  when  a  man  unceremoni 
ously  stalked  in  at  the  open  door. 

"Mawnin',  strangeh!" 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  the  young  lawyer  courteously  replied. 
"Won't  you  have  a  seat?" 

"See  heah,  Mistuh,  Mistuh,  Oh,  yus,  Simonson,  Ah've 
come  up  tuh  hae  uh  plain  talk  wi'  ye.  Ony  'jections  ?" 

"None  whatever,"  rather  enjoying  the  situation. 

"Juist  ez  weel,  fuh  Ah'd  hae  me  saiy  on'hoosooaevuh. 
Truth  is  theith's  ae  michty  sight  o'  telk  aboot  ye'n  thiz 
town." 

"About  me?  Why,  sir,  I've  been  in  New  Richmond  less 
than  twenty-four  hours,  and  I  don't  know  even  your  name." 

"Ma  name's  Amsden  Armentrout,  un  Ah  wan'  tae  ken 
wha  ye  air,  un  w'at  yer  daein'  hyar." 

For  a  moment  the  young  lawyer  flushed  with  anger  and 
half  rose  to  order  his  caller  out  of  the  room.  However,  he 
quickly  considered  the  folly  of  this  and,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  replied: 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Armentrout,  with  pleasure.  My  name's 
Samuel  Simonson ;  and  my  business  ?  Well,  I  have  none 
yet.  I'm  a  lawyer." 


80  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Ah'm  'bleeged — bu'  noo  yer  rael  name  'n'  beeznis,  please. 
Noo  dinna  gie  roiled.  Th'  sit'ashun's  thiz:  Th'  town's  un 
th'  ruzzer-aige  o'  'citement,  th'  hale  country's  fuh  'at  mattuh. 
Some  o'  th'  s'ceshuhs  air  tryin'  t'  tuhn  New  Richmon'  un 
Raleigh  Coonty.  ower  t'  th'  Southuhn  Fud'r'cy,  an'  uh 
hain'fu'  o'  we-uns  air  foutin'  lak  th'  auld  hahry  t'  keep  oor 
eend  o'  th'  woods  in  th'  Unyan.  Unduhstan'  ?" 

Simonson  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Verra  weel.  Baith  sides  air  on  th'  luikoot  fuh  uh  raip'- 
sen'ative  frae  heidquatuhs,  Ah  ken  ut.  Hoo  Ah  ken  ut  iz 
naebody's  beez.  We  Ah  luikin'  fo'  uh  'Niled  States  Mah- 
shul ;  thae'uh  luikin'  fo'  uh  ajint  frae  'at  doobul-doid  traituh, 
Jaiff  Davus.  Wuh've  scrapit  th'  hale  toown  wi'  uh  chasem 
coomb  'n'  th'  unly  twa  strengehs  hyar  air  yersel  V  uh  li'l 
hae-wittud  freog-stickuh  named  Pahlfruh.  Ah've  soized 
oop  baith  o'  yirs,  'n'  th'  li'l  roont  disna  coont.  Noo  w'at 
Ah  wunt  tae  ken  iz,  Whilk  air  ye,  an'  w'at  air  ye  ?  Lincoln's 
er  Davus'  ems'sahry?" 

"Maybe  I'm  neither,  Mr.  Armentrout." 

"Yus,  'n'  mebbe  yir  baith." 

"How  could  that  be?" 

"P'itin'  t'  be  ane  whilie  raelly  tither." 

The  young  lawyer  laughed.  The  veiled  accusation  was 
both  absurd  and  amusing. 

"But,  Mr.  Armentrout,  do  you  think  I'm  playing  a  double 
role?" 

"Nuh-oo." 

"Whom,  then,  do  you  think  I  am  ?" 

"Weel,  t'  bae  oopen,  Jaiff  Davus'  stool-pidgeon." 

"But  why  me  rather  than  the  other  stranger?" 

.  "  'At  dafty  loon  ?    W'y  'e  disna  ken  ez  muckle  ez  th'  man 

w'at  gaed  uh  hoontin'  'n'  fuhgut  t'  tak  'iz  gun.    Acks  lak  uh 

moonkey  an'  a'  'e  kin  saiy  iz,  'we,  we,'  un  'ah!'     Ijiot,  ha' 

th'  toime  'e  ca's  meh  'Mees-tah  Airmeen-feesh.'    Un  gin 


LINCOLN'S  TWO  FEIENDS  gl 

Ah  k'richt  'im  'e  dreaws  oop  'iz  shoulduhs,  um  wigguls  'iz 
a'hms  lak  thees" — making  the  obnoxious  motions — "un 
saiys,  'we  we — ah,  w'at  eez  zee  deei-rong  bit-win  troot,  'n' 
feesh?  Air  no  a'  zee  troot  feesh?'  'N'  th'  ither  mawnin', 
w'at  div  ye  think?  'E  ast  Missus  Bahnes — 'e  boa'ds  't  huh 
hoose — t'  freiy  'im  soom  freog-laigs  fuh  'iz  allmooayrstroh, 
meanin',  Ah  naickun,  'iz  brakfas'.  Un  Missus  Bahnes  was 
'at  mad  sh'  mummicked  'im  richt  tae  'iz  face,  un'  sed,  'Nae 
Mees-taire,  Ah  dinna  cook  moonkey  fud.'  " 

"And  so  you  think  I'm  here  to  represent  Jeff  Davis?" 

"Ahken't!" 

"And,  pray  tell  me,  what  proof  you  have,  Mr.  Armen- 
trout,  seeing  that  I  arrived  only  )'esterday  at  midday." 

"Wha  did  ye  ca'  on  yist'day  a'ternoon?" 

"Judge  Gildersleeve." 

"Zactly !  Uh  fotch-tekked  raibul,  bu'  th'  w'ites'  o'  th'  hale 
k'boodr.  Un  whah  did  ye  bide  las'  nicht?" 

"At  Judge  Gildersleeve's.  Because  I'm  a  co-collegian, 
and  am  an  admirer  of  Daniel  Webster,  and  was  a  stranger, 
he  very  kindly  invited  me  to  his  home." 

"Th'  unly  ane  thah  fuh  suppuh?" 

"No,  a  Mr.  Harold  Culpepper  was  there.  I  believe  he's 
soon  to  marry  the  Judge's  daughter." 

"Un  a'ter  suppuh?" 

"Oh,  there  were  several  callers — Dr.  Culpepper,  Professor 
Pinckney,  Mr.  Goldbeck,  the  merchant,  Voe  Bijaw,  the 
editor,  and  a  few  others,  mostly  young  people,  however." 

"A'  raibuls.  O'rt  tae  b'  hung,  ilka  ane  o'  'em.  Voe 
Bijaw's  jes'  er  snipe  un  disna  'moun'  tae  onything — a'  mooth 
'n'  feet  'n'  nae  brain.  Auld  Pink's  uh  dreamuh — a*  brain  'n' 
nae  sainse.  Auld  Golduh's  uh  monuh-grub — sail  'iz  soul  fuh 
twa  bits.  Tew  stingy  t'  buy  burd-seed  fuh  th'  cuckoo  en  'iz 
clock.  Bu'  Doc  Culpaipuh — Vs  hell  on  wheels.  Un  gin  th' 


82  AMERICANS  ALL 

Southun  'Fud'r'cy  bed  dooly  'sembled  w'at  did  yir  taltc 
aboot?" 

Armentrout  thought  he  had  the  young  lawyer  cornered 
and  was  exultant — for  the  moment  insolent. 

Simonson  suddenly  remembered  Marjorie — the  hour  they 
had  spent,  tete-a-tete,  before  the  open  fireplace  in  the  family 
sitting  room,  alone ;  her  low,  musical  voice ;  her — 

"It's  none  of  your  business,  Mr.  Armentrout,  on  whom  I 
called  yesterday  afternoon,  with  whom  I  dined  last  evening, 
what  people  called,  or  where  I  spent  the  night."  The  young 
lawyer  was  deeply  angered,  and  his  face  was  flushed.  "The 
people  whom  I  have  met  in  New  Richmond,  yourself 
excepted,  may  be  'damned  rebels,'  as  you  say — of  that  I 
know  nothing;  but  I  can  say  for  them  that  they  have  been 
well-bred  and  courteous — and  that's  more  than  I  can  say  for 
you." 

"Nae  mair  ansuh's  nuc'surruh,  Mistuh  Spy,  Traituh!" 

The  young  lawyer  had  taken  the  yet-unopened  letter  out 
of  his  pocket  and  carelessly  laid  it  on  the  table  where  Armen- 
trout's  eye,  as  he  had  begun  his  tirade,  had  caught  the 
handwriting.  Advancing  on  the  young  lawyer,  and  pound 
ing  on  the  table  with  his  clenched  fist,  he  fairly  hissed : 

"Noo  Ah  ken  ye're  uh  Spy,  uh  Traituh,  uh  damn'  doobul- 
doid  Villun.  Luik  at  thet  laituh !" 

Simonson  now  was  deathly  pale.  He  had  often  wondered 
what  was  the  murder-feeling — the  feeling  of  a  man  at  the 
moment  when  in  cold  blood  and  self-controlled  anger,  homi 
cidal  fury,  he  deliberately  deals  the  death-blow  to  a  fellow 
man — but  now  he  knew.  The  space  about  him  seemed  to 
swarm  with  swirling  flecks  of  red — blood-splotches.  In  an 
even,  level,  colorless  tone,  holding  himself  steadily  in  hand, 
he  said: 

"Mr.  Armentrout,  7  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you. 
When  I  am  through  you  will  leave  this  room  instantly  or 


LINCOLN'S  TWO  FBIEND8  83 

I  shall  kill  you.  I  was  born  in  Missouri  twenty-eight  years 
ago.  I'm  not  a  renegade,  as  you  seem  to  think  I  am,  but  a 
gentleman.  I've  come  to  New  Richmond  for  the  sole  pur 
pose  of  practicing  law.  Just  why  I  chose  this  place,  in 
preference  to  a  thousand  others  vastly  more  to  my  liking,  is 
none  of  your  business.  As  to  politics  or  religion — you're 
too  base  and  ignorant  to  understand  what  I'd  say  on  those 
subjects,  and  so  I  shall  say  nothing.  This,  however,  I  shall 
say  to  you,  and  you  shall  not  interrupt  me,  and  if  you  dare 
open  your  mouth  to  contradict  me  I  swear  by  the  eternal 
God  you  shall  not  leave  my  presence  alive.  Now,  hear  me : 
I  am  no  man's  agent,  emissary,  or  representative — not 
Davis',  not  Lincoln's.  I  have  never  had  speech  with  either 
of  them — with  neither  have  I  ever  had  communication, 
either  epistolary,  or  from  hand  or  mouth  of  cither's  agent, 
emissary,  or  representative.  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge 
neither  of  them  knows  even  of  my  existence.  I  hold  no 
man's  brief  or  commission,  none  except  my  Heavenly 
Father's  to  be  a  Man,  true,  upright,  honorable,  and  that, 
thank  God,  I  am.  Therefore  it  is  morally  impossible  for 
me  to  be  a  spy,  or  traitor,  or  double-dyed  villain,  as  you 
declare  me  to  be.  Were  I  not  a  gentleman  I  would  now 
apply  to  you  a  few  epithets  which  you  eminently  deserve, 
and  that  would  aptly  characterize  you.  But  I  desist,  not 
wishing  to  put  myself  in  your  class,  or  on  your  level.  Now 
I  give  you  sixty  seconds,  just  one  minute" — taking  out  his 
watch — "to  get  out  of  my  presence.  Go,  or  by  the  God  I 
worship  I  shall  send  your  soul  to  hell !" 

Amsden  Armentrout  was  no  coward,  but  some  men  are 
not  safe  to  interrupt  or  contradict  when  angered  to  a  cold 
and  calculating  blood-fury,  a  fact  the  bravest  men  recognize. 
Nor  was  Amsden  the  brutal  bully,  the  ill-bred  cur,  his  speech 
and  manner  would  indicate.  But  he  was  high-tempered 


84  AMERICANS  ALL 

and,  sometimes,  exceedingly  irascible.  He  was  also  a  man 
of  violent  prejudices,  but,  at  heart,  the  soul  of  integrity. 

Armentrout's  bete  noir  was  Jefferson  Davis ;  his  object  of 
supreme  veneration,  Abraham  Lincoln;  his  shrine  of  wor 
ship,  the  Federal  Union.  He  was  known  to  be  in  corre 
spondence  with  Lincoln,  and  to  enjoy  the  great  Commoner's 
boundless  confidence.  The  young  lawyer's  deliberate  sen 
tences,  uttering  a  rebuke  that  would  have  crushed  a  weaker 
man,  or  goaded  him  to  violence,  had  given  him  time  to 
realize  he  had  used  opprobrious  epithets  and  made  charges 
that  were  at  once  cruel  and  without  sufficient  proof;  and 
had  inflicted  a  wound  that  might  never  heal,  a  breach 
that  might  never  be  repaired ;  and  when  the  curt,  incisire, 
peremptory  command  to  "get  out"  was  given  he  quietly 
pointed  to  the  yet  unopened  letter  on  the  table,  and  saying, 
"Ah'll  leave  you'  t'  read  yo'  lettuh  fr'm  Mistuh  Lincoln," 
Ah  wes  t'  gang  beck  tae  'iz  orfus  ahgin  hu'd  puhrf'rate  meh 
retired". 

Dazed  and  trembling  from  the  reaction  from  his  excite 
ment  and  fury  the  young  lawyer  tore  open  the  envelope 
and  extracted  a  single  sheet  of  common  note  paper.  As 
through  a  mist  he  gazed  for  several  minutes  on  the  fine, 
neat  chirography.  Gradually  the  words  took  form  and 
combined  into  coherent  sentences.  At  last  he  was  able  to 
grasp  the  full  meaning.  The  communication  was  as  follows : 

"Samuel  Simonson,  Esq. — Dear  Sir:  I  have  requested 
several  of  my  trusted  friends,  among  them  Justice  Higdon, 
late  of  Harvard  University,  to  furnish  me  the  names  of  a 
number  of  young  men  who,  by  education,  training,  courage, 
and  moral  integrity,  are  qualified  to  be  my  steady,  reliable 
right  arms  at  divers  strategic  points.  Among  the  names  thus 
submitted  I  find  yours.  Justice  Higdon  informs  me  he  has 
known  you  about  ten  years,  and  speaks  of  you  in  a  manner 
that  causes  me  to  desire  to  meet  you  personally.  The  fact 
that  you  have  become  a  citizen  of  New  Richmond  adds  to 
this  desire.  Should  you  accept  this  invitation  to  visit  me, 


LINCOLN'S  TWO  FRIENDS  85 

I  would  suggest:  i.  That  you  keep  the  matter  of  receiving 
this  invitation  a  secret,  except  to  one  Amsden  Armentrout. 
2.  That  you  show  this  letter  to  said  Armentrout,  and  confer 
with  him  as  to  what  course  you  would  better  pursue.  You 
will  like  Armentrout,  for  he  is  a  loyal  citizen,  a  man  of  the 
strictest  integrity,  and  a  friend  in  whom  you  can  always 
fully  and  safely  confide.  Yours  resp'y,  A.  LINCOLN." 

The  young  lawyer's  resentment  now  was  all  gone.  "What 
a  fool  I  was  to  quarrel  with  such  a  man  as  Lincoln  declares 
Armentrout  to  be,"  was  his  first  thought.  Under  the  spell 
of  Lincoln's  letter,  and  in  the  glow  created  by  the  knowledge 
that  his  Harvard  friend  and  professor  had  commended  him 
to  the  President-elect,  he  took  on  himself  all  the  blame.  "I 
trifled,  trifled  with  this  high-souled,  valorous  patriot,"  he 
said.  "And  when  he  could  no  longer  endure  my  quibbling, 
and  silly  evasions,  and  denounced  me,  what  did  I  do?  Be 
came  melodramatic,  raved  like  a  fool,  and  threatened, 
actually  threatened — murder!  I  wouldn't  have  Mr.  Lincoln 
and  Justice  Higdon  know  this  for  anything.  I  must  see 
this  loyal  and  unswerving  Roundhead  and  make  this  matter 
right  with  him — if  I  can."  And  thrusting  his  hat  on  his 
head,  he  rushed  down  to  the  street. 

In  the  meantime  Armentrout,  himself  penitent  on  account 
of  the  merciless  castigation  he  had  administered  to  the 
strange  young  lawyer,  had  gone  to  the  postoffice.  There 
he,  too,  had  received  a  letter  from  Lincoln.  It  was  brief 
and  to  the  point : 

"My  Dear  Old  Friend :  I  want  you  to  turn  diplomat  for 
me — not  the  shirt-sleeves  sort,  but  the  suave,  ingratiating, 
heart-winning  kind.  There's  a  young  man  in  your  town,  a 
newcomer,  by  the  name  of  Samuel  Simonson,  by  profession 
a  lawyer,  whom  we  wish  to  enlist  in  our  holy  cause.  He 
is  a  young  man  of  splendid  education,  great  ability,  high 
moral  character,  and  a  stranger  to  fear.  If  you  enlist  him 
under  our  banner  you  will  place  me  under  renewed  obliga- 


86  AMERICANS  ALL 

tions  and,  I  am  persuaded,  render  the  Union  an  inestimable 
service.  I  have  just  invited  him  to  come  to  Springfield  and 
confer  with  me,  but  I  am  not  sure  he  will  come.  Please  see 
him  at  once  and  hasten  matters,  as  I  am  preparing  to  go  to 
Washington  in  a  few  days.  I  have  asked  him  to  advise  with 
you  immediately.  Yrs  Aftly,  A.  LINCOLN." 

"Thar,  A've  gang  un  dune't,  noo,  bloonderin'  auld  block- 
heid  'at  Ah  aim !  W'at'll  guid  auld  Abe  think  o'  meh  noo  ? 
Meh! — 'suave,  ingratiating,  heart-winning!'  (Reading  from 
Mr.  Lincoln's  letter.)  Ah'm  uh  dodderin'  auld  gaberlunzie, 
'at's  w'at  Ah  aim.  'Win  him  to  our  cause' — hell !  Ah've  fu' 
aye  tamed  'im  ahgin  ut,  'n'  ahgin  meh,  V  ahgin  auld  Abe, 
'n'  ahgin  ilka  thing  'igh  'n'  'oly.  'Confer  with'  meh — yus, 
Ah  seez  'im  'furrin'  wi'  meh!  Th'  deil  'n'  Tom  Walkuh. 
Oh,  sallymyjackuhlum!  'Please  see  him  at  once' — No*  un 
yuh  life,  Fathuh  Abruh'm !  Guess  Ah  ken  muhduh  gin  Ah 
seez  ut — 'n'  'iz  een  wuh  juist  twa  raid  oshuns  o't,  juist  uh 
sloshun  ower  wi'  ut.  Face  'im  ahgin?  Ruthuh  face  Jaiff 
Davus  'n'  th'  hale  Southun  'Fud'r'cy,  wi'  auld  fahr  'n'  brum- 
stene  Bob  Toombs  thrown  in  fuh  gude  maishuh.  W'y,  ef 
Ah  wes  t'  gang  beck  tae  'iz  orfus  ahgin  hu'd  puhrf'rate  meh 
wi'  laid  tull  Ah  cudna  b'  used  fuh  uh  salt-saileh,  uh  er  nail- 
sieve." 

Thus  absorbed  with  bitter  musings,  and  mentally  flag- 
gellating  himself  unmercifully,  he  suddenly  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  young  lawyer.  Each  held  in  his  left 
hand  a  letter  from  the  hand  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

"Ah  wuz  uh  dodderin'  ass,"  said  Armentrout. 

"I  was  a  damned  fool,"  replied  the  young  lawyer. 

"Shake !"  they  both  exclaimed ;  and,  hand  in  hand,  they 
returned  to  the  young  lawyer's  office. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SAMUEL  SIMONSON  THE  GUEST  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

WELL,  Sammy,  my  boy,  how  are  you ?" 
The  young  lawyer  was  pleasurably  surprised  at  the 
familiar  greeting  of  the  President-elect,  and  all  the  more 
because  Mr.  Lincoln's  tone  of  voice  and  manner  were  so 
convincingly  unaffected  and  sincere.  Too,  there  was  some 
thing  about  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  that  was  singularly  appeal 
ing,  wistful.  Homely  unquestionably  he  was,  even  more 
than  he  had  anticipated — the  cartoonists  had  not  greatly  ex 
aggerated  his  angularity,  or  the  size  of  his  hands  and  mouth 
and  feet.  He  also  had  an  old  look  that  was  out  of  keeping 
with  his  years;  his  shoulders  were  drooped,  and  his  face 
was  deeply  wrinkled.  His  voice  was  thin  and  wiry  and 
pitched  to  a  minor  key.  There  was  no  evidence  of  weakness 
or  indecision  in  his  speech  or  bearing,  and  yet  that  he  was 
temperamentally  melancholy  and  subject  to  seasons  of  deep 
dejection  was  manifest.  When  the  young  lawyer  recalled 
the  many  vile  and  cruel  things  he  had  heard  and  read  regard 
ing  him,  aspersions  of  which  the  President-elect  could  not 
possibly  be  ignorant,  and  looked  at  the  deep-set  eyes,  and 
somber  face  with  corners  of  mouth  slightly  drooped,  invol 
untarily  he  thought  of  the  words  of  the  Prophet :  "He  was 
despised  and  rejected  of  men;  a  man  of  sorrows  and  ac 
quainted  with  grief;  and  we  hid  as  it  were  our  faces  from 
him ;  he  was  despised  and  we  esteemed  him  not." 

Four  years  later,  looking  into  the  same  face,  then  limned 
into  pathetic  beauty  by  "the  deep  damnation  of  his  taking 

87 


88  AMEEICANS  ALL 

off,"  and  remembering  his  kindly  deeds,  deeds  of  unexam 
pled  magnanimity,  the  young  lawyer  recalled  how  the  same 
venerable  Prophet,  still  speaking  of  another,  had  said :  "But 
he  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  he  was  bruised  for 
our  iniquities ;  the  chastisement  of  our  peace  was  upon  him ; 
and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed." 

After  some  general  conversation,  Mr.  Lincoln  said,  "Ra 
leigh  County  is  the  United  States  in  epitome,  and  its  people 
bear  all  the  marks  of  their  ancestry  and  previous  environ 
ment.  Socially,  there  are  two  distinct  classes  in  Raleigh 
County,  and  between  them  'there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed' :  the 
bold,  defiant  Southern  aristocracy,  and  the  'po'  white  trash.' 
Strangely  enough,  there  is  no  antagonism  between  these  two 
classes.  For  generations  one  class  has  assumed  the  right  of 
dictation,  and  the  other  has  submitted  to  servility ;  and  with 
both  classes  the  relation  has  become  second  nature,  practi 
cally  that  of  master  and  slave. 

"Politically,  however,  a  new  spirit  is  abroad  and  its  whis 
perings  have  been  heard  in  New  Richmond.  A  question  not 
easily  settled  has  arisen.  It  is  the  age-long  controversy 
between  plebeian  and  patrician.  Thus  far  the  final  verdict 
of  men  has  been,  no  less  than  the  edict  of  Nature,  that  the 
patrician — the  larger  and  more  competent — shall  rule,  and 
with  that  edict  and  verdict  I  am  in  perfect  accord. 

"Indeed,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  brainy  Southern 
planters,  other  things  being  equal,  should  have  ruled,  for 
they  were  the  better  qualified  to  rule.  Nor  does  the  fact 
that  there  were  mistakes  under  the  old  Southern  regime, 
and  sometimes  cruel  and  unjust  uses  of  power,  militate  in 
the  least  against  the  great  basal  principle :  The  best  qualified 
to  rule  should  rule.  Hence,  between  plebe  and  patrician, 
governmentally,  I  should  vote  for  the  patrician;  likewise  I 
should  stand  for  the  Southern  master  in  preference  to  the 
more  or  less  unqualified  'cracker.'  Consequently,  indeed' 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  39 

from  necessity,  when  the  supremacy  of  state  or  nation  is  in 
question,  I  vote  good  and  hard  for  the  nation.  Of  these  two 
opposing  forces  and  principles,  Dr.  Fairfax  Culpepper  and 
Amsden  Armentrout  are  representatives.  Under  which  ban 
ner  would  you  prefer  to  serve  ?" 

"Neither,"  replied  the  young  lawyer. 

Mr.  Lincoln  was  startled  by  the  unexpected  answer ;  and 
then,  smiling  quizzically,  "And  why  under  neither?" 

"Because  in  half  their  assumptions  I  think  them  both  par 
tially  wrong ;  in  the  other  half,  wholly  wrong." 

For  the  first  time,  Mr.  Lincoln  laughed  outright.  "/  jing, 
Sammy,  I  like  that.  Go  on ;  explain  yourself." 

"I  fear,  Mr.  Lincoln,  I  should  offend  you." 

"Have  no  fear ;  your  voice  rings  true.  Be  perfectly  frank 
with  me ;  you  know  I  have  a  weakness  for  boys  and  young 
men.  No  beating  about  the  bush  now,  Sammy." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  President-elect.  To  begin,  though  I  am 
of  the  South,  I  like  you,  and  believe  in  you.  In  my  heart  I 
revere  both  you  and  Mr.  Davis,  and  believe  the  two  of  you 
to  be  equally  honest,  honorable,  and  patriotic.  Again :  Cul 
pepper  hates  everything  Northern ;  Armentrout  hates  every 
thing  Southern — my  heart  is  held  captive  equally  by  North 
and  South.  As  I  figure  it  out,  Mr.  Lincoln,  both  sides  are 
equally  conscientious,  equally  patriotic,  and  possibly  equally 
in  error.  Finally,  both  Culpepper  and  Armentrout  are  rab 
idly  denunciatory,  which  I  detest." 

"How  about  Slavery,  Sammy  ?"    The  question  was  abrupt. 

"Abstractly  or  concretely  ?" 

"Both." 

"Abstractly,  I  agree  with  much  you  said  in  your  debate 
with  Judge  Douglas — perhaps  all  of  it;  in  the  concrete — 
well,  I'm  not  convinced.  In  fact,  I  doubt  if  emancipation 
would  add  anything  to  the  negro's  happiness  or  well-being, 
while  emancipation  and  enfranchisement — and  the  two  are 


90  AMERICANS  ALL 

inseparable — would  plunge  us  into  a  seething  whirlpool  of 
economic  and  political  difficulties." 

"Possibly  you  are  right,  Sammy — but  what  if  we  should 
free  them  and  transport  them  to  Africa  ?" 

"We  haven't  steam  and  sail  sufficient.  They'd  breed 
faster  than  we  could  ship  them ;  besides,  you  have  no  legal 
right  to  either  free  or  transport  them." 

The  young  lawyer  felt  that  he  was  ruining  himself  in  Mr. 
Lincoln's  estimation,  but  could  not  conscientiously  trim  or 
temporize. 

There  came  a  far-away  look  into  Mr.  Lkicoln's  eyes.  A 
child  had  brought  in  a  tousled,  vagrant  cat,  and  he  was 
absent-mindedly,  or  seemingly  so,  holding  it  in  his  lap  and 
stroking  its  back.  A  black  woman — she  had  just  buried  her 
husband — evaded  the  servant  at  the  door  and  came  into  his 
presence.  He  heard  her  tale  of  woe,  comforted  her,  and 
placed  a  dollar  in  her  hand.  A  handsome  silver  vessel, 'a 
"loving  cup,"  engraved  and  gold-lined,  a  present  from  the 
Boston  Abolitionists,  was  brought  in.  He  listened  patiently 
to  the  presentation  speech,  made  a  few  remarks  in  reply, 
and  called  Martha  Washington,  the  hired  negro  woman,  to 
take  it  out.  A  minute  later  she  returned  and  exclaimed, 
"Oh,  Massa  Linkum,  w'at  shall  Ah  do  wit'  ut?"  "I  don't 
know.  Feed  it  to  the  chickens,  I  reckon."  He  had  forgotten 
all  about  it.  Her  black  face  had  momentarily  suggested 
chickens  and  a  bag  of  meal,  or  peck  of  oats. 
\  "What  about  the  secession  of  the  states,  and  the  action 
of  the  Rebels  down  South  ?"  Mr.  Lincoln  was  again  keenly 
alert. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Lincoln ;  is  it  wise  to  use  exasperating 
terms?" 

"You're  right,  Sammy.  Judge  Douglas  often  unhorsed 
himself  that  way.  But,  terms  aside,  what  do  you  think  of 
the  last  move  of  the  South  ?" 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  9! 

'Tm  not  a  great  lawyer  like  yourself,  Mr.  Lincoln,  and 
therefore  speak  with  great  diffidence.  However,  I  doubt  not 
but  the  states  in  withdrawing  from  the  Union  have  acted 
entirely  within  their  constitutional  rights." 

"How  do  you  figure  that  out,  Sammy  ?"  The  question  was 
asked  as  casually  as  though  he  were  inquiring  about  the 
weather,  or  the  prospects  for  a  good  corn  crop. 

"Well,  as  you  know,  Mr.  Lincoln,  the  states  originally 
were  sovereign  and  independent  nations,  as  absolutely  such 
as  are  the  German  and  Italian  nations  of  to-day;  again,  in 
the  original  draft  of  the  Constitution,  the  prefatory  words, 
'We,  the  People,'  were  followed  by  the  names  of  each  of  the 
contracting  states,  the  contracting  parties  being  states ;  again, 
Rhode  Island  and  South  Carolina  at  first  refused  to  accept 
the  Constitution — that  is,  to  become  parties  to  the  contract — 
and  for  several  months  continued  to  exercise  all  the  pre 
rogatives  of  sovereign  and  independent  nations,  against 
which  neither  Washington  nor  the  Federal  Government  ut 
tered  no  protest ;  again,  three  Northern  states — New  York, 
Rhode  Island,  and  Massachusetts — and  two  Southern  states 
— Virginia  and  South  Carolina — came  into  the  Union  with 
the  express  stipulation  that  they  should  be  permitted  to  re 
sume  their  sovereignty  at  their  own  pleasure ;  and  Mr. 
Buchanan,  whom  you're  soon  to  succeed,  himself  a  North 
erner,  has  officially  declared  to  Congress  that  without  this 
pledge,  granted  as  a  matter  of  course,  not  a  state  would 
have  surrendered  its  sovereignty  and  come  into  the  Union ; 
again,  till  fifteen  years  ago  Massachusetts  repeatedly  threat 
ened  to  withdraw  from  the  Union,  threats  Jefferson  Davis 
himself  often  heard  in  both  House  and  Senate,  and  her  right 
to  secede  from  the  Union  was  never  questioned ;  again,  Jus 
tice  Marshall  and  Alexander  Hamilton,  than  whom  it  would 
be  impossible  to  find  higher  authorities  on  the  Constitution, 
one  its  supreme  maker  and  the  other  its  supreme  interpreter, 


92  AMERICANS  ALL 

I 

declared  that  neither  the  Federal  Government  nor  any  com 
bination  of  states  has  the  constitutional  right  to  keep  a  dis 
satisfied  state  in  the  Union  by  coercion;  again,  the  tenth 
amendment  to  the  Constitution  was  avowedly  and  emphat 
ically  enacted  as  an  open  door  of  exit  for  states  that  might 
become  dissatisfied  with  the  Union  and  desire  to  withdraw 
from  it,  enacted  to  quiet  the  fears  of  certain  hesitant  states 
lest  the  Federal  Government  should  some  day  deny  their 
right  to  resume  their  sovereignty  and  punish  them  if  they 
attempted  to  do  so;  and  finally,  Mr.  Lincoln,  you  yourself 
publicly  conceded,  in  a  speech  you  made  in  Congress,  Decem 
ber  22,  1847,  tne  inalienable  right  of  a  dissatisfied  state  to 
sever  its  connection  with  the  Federal  Union  and  resume  its 
original  sovereignty,  as  Daniel  Webster  before  you  had 
done.  Hence,  in  my  humble  opinion,  Mr.  Lincoln,  as  the 
several  seceding  states  have  but  exercised  their  constitutional 
right,  they  are  not  'rebel'  states ;  and  since  they  have  become 
sovereign  and  independent  states,  by  strictest  and  correctest 
constitutional  processes,  their  citizens  are  not  'traitors,' 
though  it  seems  to  me  they  would  have  become  traitors  had 
they  refused  allegiance  to  their  respective  states,  and  aligned 
themselves  with  a  foreign  power.  Some  things — loyalty,  for 
instance — begin  at  home ;  and  the  state  is  our  political  roof- 
tree  and  hearthstone,  as  Robert  E.  Lee  has  declared." 

Not  by  so  much  as  the  flicker  of  an  eyelid  did  Mr.  Lincoln 
indicate  disagreement  or  resentment ;  to  the  contrary,  he  was 
profoundly  impressed.  Simonson  was  a  young  man,  a 
border-state  man,  a  Missourian  of  Southern  antecedents, 
college-bred,  a  Boston  product,  had  spent  a  year  in  Europe, 
evidently  had  read  widely  and  thought  deeply  and  independ 
ently,  and  was  serious,  conscientious,  fearless. 

"Then  the  President  has  no  constitutional  authority, 
Sammy,  to  arrest  and  bring  to  judgment  a  state  that  has 
gone  out  of  the  Union  ?" 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  93 

"Oh,  yes,"  laughed  the  young  lawyer,  now  speaking  jest 
ingly,  "you  can  ignore  the  fact  that  certain  states,  parties  of 
the  second  part  to  a  contract,  called  the  Federal  Constitu 
tion,  by  due  process  of  law  have  withdrawn  from  a  certain 
corporation,  known  as  the  Government  of  the  United  States, 
party  of  the  first  part,  and  declare  that  said  states,  naming 
them,  are  in  a  state  of  'sedition  and  rebellion,'  and  call  for 
troops  to  put  down  said  'insurrection  of  rebels  and  insurg 
ents,'  and,  in  defiance  of  said  contract,  namely,  the  Federal 
Constitution,  send  said  troops  into  said  sovereign  and  inde 
pendent  states — now  foreign  nations — and  crush  them  by 
military  force,  regardless  of  every  solemn  covenant  and 
guarantee." 

But  though  the  young  lawyer  was  joking,  Lincoln  was  not. 
Something  had  touched  in  Lincoln's  breast  the  springs  of 
deep  emotion.  His  homely  face  had  suddenly  become  the 
mirror  of  mighty,  contending  thoughts  and  feelings.  His 
breath  came  faster,  and  in  his  voice,  now  low  and  hoarse, 
there  was  a  hint  of  iron  purpose. 

"Then,  Sammy,  you  would  regard  the  saving  of  the  Union, 
and  the  freeing  of  the  slaves,  both  unconstitutional  and 
unjustifiable?" 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  President-elect,  I  would  not  presume  to  speak 
thus  ex  cathedra,  least  of  all  to  you,  sir,  a  great  lawyer ;  and 
especially  since  so  soon  you  are  to  act  officially  and  decisively 
— and  with  finality — on  all  these  solemn  and  perplexing 
questions.  7  can  speak  jestingly,  though  somewhat  realiz 
ing  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  because  I  am  free  from 
responsibility;  with  you,  sir,  it  is  different.  Forgive  me, 
Mr.  Lincoln,  if  I  have  spoken  with  too  great  levity,  or — 
presumption." 

"No  offense,  my  boy.  So  you  think  I  should  suffer  this 
government  to  be  destroyed,  and  human  beings  to  remain  in 
bondage,  simply  because  our  fathers  did  not  foresee  present 


94  AMERICANS  ALL 

perils,  or  were  not  awake  to  certain  moral  and  humane  de 
mands,  and  so  left  us  without  adequate  laws?" 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Lincoln,  I  did  not  mean  it  that  way." 

"Then  what  would  you  advise?" 

"I  am  too  young,  sir,  to  advise  you." 

"Ah,  Sammy,  once  a  younger  man  than  you  was  Prime 
Minister  of  England ;  indeed,  a  man  only  about  your  age 
led  in  framing  and  securing  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution. 
In  years  I'm  the  elder,  and  in  rough-and-tumble  experience 
with  the  world,  but  in  knowledge  of  books  and  scholarly 
associations  you're  my  senior.  I,  too,  as  you  say,  am  an 
interested  party,  and  the  fierce  and  awful  struggle  in  which  I 
have  been  engaged,  especially  since  I  locked  horns  with 
Judge  Douglas,  may  have  warped  my  judgment.  Speak 
frankly,  Sammy.  It  does  an  old  man  good  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  himself  and  of  the  world  through  a  pair  of  keen,  trained, 
unblinking  young  eyes." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Lincoln.  You  are  very  kind — kinder 
than  I " 

"That'll  do,  Sammy.  Enough  of  that,  as  the  man  said 
when  a  bull  had  gored  him  and  pitched  him  over  the  fence. 
But  we  were  speaking  of  slavery,  and  secession,  and  the  con 
stitutionality  of  certain  acts  I  may  have  contemplated." 

Thus  urged,  "Sammy"  continued:  "Justice  Higdon,  one 
of  my  Harvard  professors,  now  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Massachusetts,  and  an  ardent  Abolitionist,  declares  that  a 
thousand  presidents  and  congresses  combined  could  not  law 
fully  abolish  slavery  without  an  amendment  to  the  Federal 
Constitution — except,  possibly,  as  a  war  measure.  As  to 
the  abstract  right  of  a  once  sovereign  state  to  withdraw  from 
the  Federal  compact  and  resume  its  independent  sovereignty, 
I  am  willing  to  abide  by  your  own  affirmative  declaration  in 
your  1848  speech,  bulwarked  and  buttressed  as  it  is  by  the 
like  opinions  of  Marshall,  Webster,  and  Greeley.  Besides, 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  95 

you  know  that  'Rawle's  View  of  the  Constitution'  was  one  of 
the  text-books  at  West  Point  when  Jefferson  Davis  and 
many  other  Southern  leaders  were  there  as  cadets.  Rawle 
was  a  Northerner,  a  Pennsylvanian,  and  he  distinctly  taught 
in  his  book  the  inalienable  right  of  every  state  to  withdraw 
from  the  Union — and  instead  of  said  act  constituting  trea 
son,  or  being  viewed  as  being  in  any  way  reprehensible,  it 
should  be  regarded  as  altogether  honorable,  should  the  rights 
or  liberties  of  the  citizens  of  said  states  be  in  jeopardy, 
said  states  being  the  sole  judges  of  the  sufficient  peril  or 
provocation. 

"But,"  the  young  lawyer  presently  resumed,  "there  is  such 
a  thing  as  progress — evolution. 

'New  occasions  teach  new  duties; 

Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth ; 
They  must  be  upward  still  and  onward 

Who  would  keep  abreast  of  Truth.' 

"The  Saviour  recognized  this  fact  and  declared  that  old 
bottles  could  not  contain  new  wine.  So  He  dealt  the  old 
order  its  death  blow;  but  out  of  it  came  a  new  and  better 
order — Christianity." 

"Stop,  Sammy.  You  say  governments  may  outgrow  their 
constitutions  and  institutions  ?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Lincoln." 

"And  that  he  who  destroys  evil  institutions,  however  old 
and  once  revered,  and  ends  or  revises  laws  and  constitutions 
that  fetter  progress,  does  a  praiseworthy  act?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"If,  then,  I  could  wipe  out  slavery  and,  even  at  the  peril, 
possibly  at  the  cost,  of  my  life,  make  this  glorious  Union  of 
states  forever  indissoluble,  do  you  think  it  would  be  worth 
while?" 

"It  certainly  would  place  your  name  among  the  Immortals 


96  AMEEICANS  ALL 

— Caesar,  Charlemagne,  Alfred  the  Great,  Cromwell,  Wash 
ington." 

"But,  young  man,  is  it  possible  ?  Can  it  be  done  ?  What 
is  the  drift  of  the  world,  the  trend  of  the  times  ?" 

"You,  Mr.  Lincoln,  are  a  better  judge  than  I  am.  You 
are  in  the  whirl  of  public  events,  the  great  and  potential 
movements  of  the  world." 

"Yes,  Sammy,  in  such  a  whirl  I'm  dizzy,  almost  blinded. 
How  does  it  appear  to  you?" 

"Mr.  Davis,  whom  I  heard  in  Boston  less  than  two  years 
ago,"  the  young  lawyer  replied,  "does  not  seem  to  realize 
as  you  do — and  I  speak  dispassionately — that  this  is  an  era 
of  ferment,  unrest,  transition,  all  over  the  world,  and  that 
seemingly  we  have  outgrown  our  constitution,  and  that  the 
new  wine  of  nineteenth  century  ethical,  political,  and  re 
formatory  ideals  cannot  be  contained  in  the  old  bottles  of 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century  constitutions.  This  is 
Mr.  Davis'  greatest  weakness,  as  your  contrary  conviction 
is  your  greatest  element  of  strength.  Moreover,  Mr.  Lin 
coln,  your  arm  will  be  strengthened  by  the  spirit  of  liberty 
which  is  abroad,  in  the  very  air,  and  everywhere  is  insistent. 
Whether  wisely  or  foolishly,  rightly  or  wrongly,  the  world 
hates  slavery ;  and  so  far  as  you  champion  Liberty  the  world 
will  be  on  your  side.  Furthermore,  this  is  an  era  of  unifica 
tion.  Russia  is  unifying;  so  are  Germany  and  Italy — 
and  France  and  England  are  striving  for  a  closer  union 
with  their  distant  colonies.  Separation  and  segregation, 
territorially,  are  peculiarly  abhorrent  to  every  great  power; 
the  precedent,  should  Mr.  Davis  be  successful,  would  be 
against  the  policy  and  ambitions  of  all  the  great  powers. 
Hence,  you  will  have  their  sympathy,  good-will,  and,  possi 
bly,  their  cooperation.  Finally,  the  use  of  steam  and  of 
electricity,  and  American  inventive  genius,  are  ushering  in 
a  new  and  wonderful  epoch  of  commerce  and  manufacture. 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  97 

With  this  tremendous  quickening  and  expansion  along  all 
commercial  and  industrial  lines  necessarily  there  must  be 
new  and  larger  laws,  and  yet  larger  constructions  and  inter 
pretations  of  the  Constitution." 

Suddenly  the  young  lawyer  was  self-conscious,  abashed. 
That  he  should  have  preached  to  the  President-elect,  turned 
prophet,  filled  him  with  amazement,  almost  terror.  If  he 
was  an  Abolitionist,  he  did  not  know  it — he  thought  he  was 
not.  If  he  was  a  Lincoln-Unionist,  it  was  a  surprise  to  him 
— he  had  not  so  rated  himself.  If  he  was  a  "Liberal  Con- 
structionist,"  reading  into  the  Constitution  things  of  which 
its  immortal  authors  had  never  dreamed,  he  had  just  awak 
ened  to  the  fact — it  never  before  had  occurred  to  him.  How 
had  it  all  come  about  ?  His  larger  vision,  wider,  firmer  grip 
on  things,  and  keener,  clearer  comprehension ! 

Like  a  flash  it  came  to  him — LINCOLN.  Unperceived 
by  himself,  he  had  been  led  on :  now  a  look,  now  a  frown  or 
smile,  occasionally  an  exclamation,  rarely  a  completed  sen 
tence — yet  all  the  while  Lincoln  had  been  lifting  him  to 
higher  azures,  leading  him  to  wider  horizons,  drawing  him 
out,  opening  his  eyes. 

Nor  was  Lincoln  apparently  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing.  Again,  absent-mindedly,  he  was  stroking  the  back  of 
the  vagabond  cat,  and  watching  the  play  of  the  sunshine 
among  the  boughs  of  a  scraggy  elm  visible  through  the 
window.  Down  the  street  a  newsboy  was  shrilly  shrieking 
his  wares ;  but  the  man  of  whom  the  whole  world  was  think 
ing  and  talking,  and  whose  name  was  in  every  paper  and 
periodical,  of  all  men  was  seemingly  the  least  concerned.  A 
loosened  icicle  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  frozen  ground;  the 
song  of  a  canary  in  the  next  room  for  a  moment  gladdened 
the  pervading  silence  with  rhythmic  cadences;  an  Italian 
organ-grinder,  with  a  red-capped  monkey,  paused  at  the 
gate,  looked  at  the  house,  and  then  trudged  on.  Presently 


98  AMEKICANS  ALL 

the  strains  of  "Ah,  I  have  sighed  to  rest  me"  came  floating 
back.  All  was  as  simple  and  idyllic  as  a  country  pastoral. 

It  seemed  to  the  young  man  that  the  great  man  had  for 
gotten  him ;  and  that  what  he  had  said  likewise  was  forgot 
ten.  Once  more  the  strained,  drawn  look  was  fading  from 
Mr.  Lincoln's  face — he  was  almost  smiling,  and  his  eyes 
were  soft  as  a  young  girl's,  standing,  in  the  early  morning, 
in  a  bower  of  morning-glories  still  sparkling  with  the  fleet 
ing  jewels  of  the  night.  "Perhaps  he  is  thinking,"  the  young 
lawyer  thought,  "of  boyhood  pranks,  or  of  days  of  happy 
dalliance  before  his  'call'  had  come,  or  maybe  of  some  sweet 
heart  in  the  joyous  time  before  the  iron  had  entered  his 
soul." 

Slowly  turning  to  the  young  lawyer:  "Justice  Higdon 
was  not  mistaken.  You're  all  he  represented  you  to  be,  and 
— Amsden  Armentrout.  I'm  proud  to  know  you,  and  I 
hope  to  know  you  better.  In  my  opinion,  your  analysis  of 
present  conditions,  and  judgment  regarding  future  probabili 
ties  are  correct — in  the  main.  You  are  uncertain  about  some 
things,  and  so  am  I ;  but  of  one  thing  I  am  absolutely  cer 
tain:  If  I  live,  if — I — live — law  or  no  law,  constitution  or 
no  constitution,  I  mean  to  do  two  things — save  the  Union, 
and  free  the  slave!  If  that's  in  the  Constitution,  well  and 
good;  if  it's  not  in  the  Constitution,  then  I'll  put  it  there, 
God  being  my  Helper!" 

"But,  Mr.  President-elect,  that  would  be  anarchy  ram 
pant,  the  very  charge  you  bring  against  Davis  and  his 
confreres." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Sammy." 

"I  mean  this,  Mr.  Lincoln :  Your  threatened  defiance  of 
the  Constitution,  and  government  single-handed,  according  to 
your  deep-seated  passion  and  individual  opinion — that's  the 
political  philosophy  of  every  tyrant.  How  can  you  be  a  law- 
abiding  citizen  and  at  the  same  time  defy  the  law  ?  How  can 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  99 

you  be  a  constitutional  ruler  and  spurn  the  constitution? 
How  can  you  be  true  to  your  presidential  oath  and  at  the 
same  time  violate  it?  You  know  the  oath  you  must  take 
before  you  can  become  President — have  read  it,  consid 
ered  it?" 

"Yes,  Sammy,  till  it  has  gashed  and  burned  to  the  deepest 
depths  of  my  poor  soul." 

The  harassed  and  hunted  look  had  returned — his  face  was 
now  more  deeply  seamed  than  ever,  and  his  eye-sockets 
were  cavernous.  Now  to  anguish  was  added  perplexity. 
More,  there  was  a  touch  of  horror,  softened  by  wonderful 
compassion — such  a  face  as  only  Dore  could  have  painted, 
only  Milton  or  Dante  could  have  described.  What  wonder 
he  writhed  and  struggled  ?  Oath-bound  to  a  narrow  consti 
tution  ;  conscience-bound  to  a  broad  Humanity.  Pledged  to 
Slavery;  plighted  to  Liberty.  Sworn  to  defend  and  pre 
serve  a  constitution  and  an  institution  to  one  of  which  he 
was  resolved  to  do  violence,  to  the  other — destruction. 
Meekly  holding  out  hands  for  statutory  and  constitutional 
fetters  which,  in  the  holy  of  holies  of  his  soul,  he  had  cove 
nanted  with  his  Maker  to  rend  and  destroy.  Pleading  gen 
tleness;  planning  war.  Avowing  boundless  love  for  the 
South,  his  ancestral  mother,  yet  soon  to  inflict  a  blow  that 
would  result  in  a  hemorrhage  of  blood  and  treasure  unparal 
leled  in  the  annals  of  time — a  Quaker  destined  to  make  the 
career  of  Attila  seemingly  a  drama  of  sugared  love-sonnets 
and  dreamy  moonlight-madrigals.  Brave,  but — with  a  touch 
of  superstitution  that  sometimes  made  him  tremble.  With 
abnormal  ardency  desiring  long  life,  a  peaceful  old-age  after 
noon  and  evening,  and  a  tranquil  exit  from  the  world,  yet 
with  that  prescience  given  to  rapt  souls,  foreseeing  vilifi 
cation,  persecution,  illimitable  hatred,  and  a  bloody,  tragic 
death.  And  from  all  this  from  the  first  he  realized — for,  like 


100  AMERICANS  ALL 

all  great  men,  and  most  old  men,  he  was  both  seer  and  fatal 
ist — there  was  no  escape. 

"Sammy,"  presently  he  said,  "let's  think  clearly  and  strive 
to  arrive  at  a  logical  and  defensible  conclusion.  I'll  lead  off 
and  think  aloud,  and  you  can  call  a  halt  whenever  you  detect 
anything  fallacious. 

"We'll  say,  as  a  starter,  that  three  things  are  essential  to 
our  well-being :  sustenance,  law,  religion.  Very  good ;  but 
— the  doctors  don't  agree  as  to  raiment,  food,  medicine,  or 
treatment.  The  allopaths  are  said  to  be  orthodox,  and  the 
homeopaths  heterodox.  7  prefer  the  smaller  doses  and  the 
little  sugar  pills ;  so,  medically,  I  suppose  I  am  a  heretic. 

"Likewise  priests  and  preachers  are  not  agreed.  Even  at 
the  beginning  Paul  and  Peter  disagreed  on  certain  points, 
and  there  were  two  schools:  the  Pauline  and  the  Petrine. 
In  our  day  creeds  and  sects  are  innumerable.  I've  heard 
most  of  the  great  preachers  and  like  them  all;  yes,  even 
Peter  Cartwright,  though  I  could  never  swallow  his  Hades 
Double  Extract  of  Brimstone  Compound.  Mumford,  rare 
man  and  eloquent  preacher,  but — he  wanted  to  quash  every 
indictment,  regardless  of  the  evidence,  or  attitude  and  history 
of  the  arraigned;  and  that  wasn't  good  law  or  wholesome 
practice.  Peter  Akers,  the  prophetic,  and  Matthew  Simpson, 
the  seraphic — ah,  they  have  done  my  soul  a  world  of  good ! 
In  religion,  as  in  medicine,  we  have  the  orthodox  and  the 
heterodox ;  and  if  Jonathan  Edwards,  Lyman  Beecher,  and 
Peter  Cartwright  represent  orthodoxy,  then,  again,  I  suppose 
I'm  a  heretic.  My  children  couldn't  make  me  mad  at  them, 
or  hate  them ;  and  as  for  me  sending  my  children  away  into 
hell-fire  and  brimstone  forever  and  forever — why,  a  father 
that  would  do  that  ought  to  be  scourged  out  of  the  universe. 
But  the  Heavenly  Father  is  so  infinitely  better  and  kinder 
than  we  are ! 

"So  as  to  law — from  the  establishment  of  our  govern- 


SAMUEL  SIMONSON  101 

ment  we  have  had  two  schools :  Strict  Constructionists  and 
Liberal  Constructionists.  Southern  statesmen  mainly  have 
been  strict  Constructionists ;  and  ours  has  been  a  government 
of  Southern  statesmen.  All  of  our  presidents,  save  three, 
and  practically  all  our  chief  justices,  have  been  Southern 
men.  By  instinct,  environment,  and  economic  necessity, 
they  have  all  been  strict  Constructionists. 

"But  strict  construction,  Sammy,  sounds  the  death-knell 
of  progress ;  and  arrested  progress  spells  destruction — it  is 
the  letter  that  killeth.  Progress  may  make  the  best  thing  of 
yesterday  the  worst  thing  for  to-day.  You  have  just  re 
minded  me  that  'new  occasions  teach  new  duties ;  time  makes 
ancient  good  uncouth.' 

"The  strict  constructionist  is  orthodox,  a  slave  to  the  letter 
that  killeth,  clings  to  the  old  way,  adheres  to  the  ancient 
formula,  declines  the  'new  duties,'  adores  'the  ancient  good 
uncouth/  and  despises  the  modern  good  divine. 

"But  what  is  orthodoxy  ?  In  medicine  it  is  the  opinion  of 
certain  departed  physicians ;  in  religion  it  is  the  opinion  of 
certain  departed  theologians ;  in  law  it  is  the  opinion  of  cer 
tain  departed  statesmen. 

"But  all  these  certain  departed  physicians,  theologians, 
and  statesmen  were  men,  Sammy,  just  like  you  and  me,  with 
all  our  limitations ;  sometimes  right  and  sometimes  wrong ; 
sometimes  wise  and  sometimes  foolish;  sometimes  whole 
some  and  sometimes  unwholesome ;  sometimes  entirely  con 
scientious,  but  also  entirely  errant — errancy  due  to  prenatal 
influences,  inherited  biases,  uneven  and  unequal  mental  and 
ethical  poise,  culture,  and  discipline,  arrest  of  development 
by  early  conceived  and  prematurely  adopted  fallacious  theo 
ries,  the  inevitable  warping  of  mind  and  judgment  by  sharp 
and  angry  controversies,  the  fury  of  party,  professional,  and 
ecclesiastical  strife,  the  ambition  always  to  be  considered 


102  AMERICANS  ALL 

consistent,  the  betraying  and  deluding  incense  of  flattery, 
popular  applause,  or  worldly  gain,  passion,  prejudice." 

"And  in  politics,  Mr.  Lincoln,  you  are ?" 

"I'm  a  broad  constructionist,  Sammy,  as  Washington  was, 
as  Cromwell  was,  as  the  Saxon-Germans  were,  as  Saul  of 
Tarsus  was,  and — I  speak  reverently  of  that  matchless  Man 
— as  Jesus  our  Saviour  was." 

"Then  you  would ?" 

"Save  the  Union,  abolish  slavery,  win  back  the  hearts  of 
those  who  are  now  estranged,  and  increase  the  measure  of 
human  happiness  and  well-being.  I  would  purge  the  stat 
utes  of  all  obsolete  laws ;  repeal  all  unjust  laws ;  revise  all 
good  laws  that  are  incomplete,  imperfect,  inadequate,  or 
ambiguous ;  enact  new  laws  to  meet  new  conditions ;  and 
amend  the  Constitution  to  meet  present  needs,  not  hastily  or 
recklessly,  but  reverently,  discreetly,  and  in  the  fear  of  God 
— using  it  but  not  abusing  it ;  hallowing  it  but  not  making 
of  it  a  fetich. 

"The  Constitution  was  made  for  man — not  man  for  the 
Constitution." 

Presently  the  conversation  drifted.  The  care-lines  in  Mr. 
Lincoln's  face  relaxed,  and  an  exquisite  gentleness  stole  over 
his  rugged  features.  His  voice  ceased  to  be  harsh  and  rasp 
ing,  and  gradually  mellowed,  as  the  notes  of  a  distant  flute. 
The  short  February  afternoon  faded  into  twilight.  Snow- 
flakes  were  drifting  in  the  air,  and  the  moan  of  the  wind 
mingled  with  the  roar  of  the  fire. 

Mr.  Lincoln  spoke  of  the  rare  culture  of  the  South,  its 
gracious  hospitality,  its  beautiful  women  and  illustrious  men, 
and  its  deep  and  fervent  piety.  "And,"  he  continued  mus 
ingly,  "what  we  hastily  call  Southern  treason  is,  in  truth, 
state  patriotism.  But  their  strict  construction  of  the  Consti 
tution  has  lowered  the  azure  and  limited  the  horizon  of  their 
patriotism  until  they  cannot  see  or  think  or  feel  nationally. 


SAMUEL  SIMON80N  103 

And,"  with  a  tone  of  profound  melancholy,  "they  have  been 
strict  constructionists  only  in  order  to  perpetuate  slavery. 
Yet  even  now  if  we  were  to  be  assailed  by  a  foreign  power, 
every  Southern  state  would  march  with  us  in  solid  phalanx, 
and  help  drive  the  invader  out. 

"Ah,  yes,  Sammy,  they  are  patriots  all — sincere,  brave, 
glorious — blood  of  my  blood,  bone  of  my  bone,  sinew  of  my 
sinew — and  only  God  knows  how  much  I  love  them;  but 
now  they  are  gone  astray,  and  their  patriotism  is  no  longer 
that  of  Washington  and  Hamilton,  Jefferson  and  Andrew 
Jackson." 

The  President-elect's  children,  joyfully  hilarious,  rushed  in 
from  their  play.  "Tad,"  the  youngest,  he  convulsively  pressed 
to  his  breast,  then  tossed  high  above  his  head,  the  little  fellow 
coming  down  into  his  father's  arms  with  shouts  of  joy  and 
ripples  of  laughter.  Mrs.  Lincoln  appeared,  was  introduced, 
and  announced  that  supper  was  ready. 

"Come  on  out,  Sammy,  and  have  a  snack  with  us,"  said 
the  President-elect.  "But  you'll  have  to  take  pot-luck,  for," 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "the  politicians  have  about 
eaten  us  out  of  house  and  home." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SPY — A  PARTY AN  ANGEL  IN   WHITE MARJORIE 

THE  young  lawyer  was  taking  leave  of  the  President 
elect.  "Sammy,  if  war  should  come,  may  I  count 
on  you?  You  know  New  Richmond's  pretty  stanchly 
against  me." 

"Mr.  Lincoln/'  replied  the  young  lawyer,  "I  fear  I'm  what 
you  call  a  'sectional  patriot.'  Hence  if  you  ask  if  I'll  fight 
to  compel  the  South  to  submit  to  a  government  to  which,  in 
my  humble  opinion,  it  owes  no  more  allegiance  than  the 
Thirteen  Colonies  owed  to  England  after  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  I  must  answer — forgive  my  frankness — 
Never!  But  to  the  question,  Will  I  stand  by  you,  by  the 
Federal  Government,  in  the  event  of  the  South's  invasion  of 
the  North  ? — my  answer  of  necessity  would  be  an  instant  and 
emphatic  Yes!  For,  Mr.  Lincoln,  as  I  view  it,  the  North 
has  no  more  right  to  invade  and  coerce  the  South  than  the 
South  has  to  invade  and  coerce  the  North — than  England 
had  to  invade  and  coerce  the  American  Colonies  from  '76 
to  '81.  You  see,  I'm  a  Democrat  of  the  old  school.  How 
ever,  you'll  have  no  need  of  my  insignificant  services,  for 
you'll  have  with  you  the  whole  irresistible  tide  and  trend  of 
the  times." 

Gravely  taking  the  young  lawyer's  hand,  Mr.  Lincoln,  with 
a  smile,  replied :  "As  the  preachers  say,  Sammy,  you're  in  a 
state  of  grace,  and  you'll — ripen." 

The  succeeding  weeks  at  New  Richmond  were  uneventful. 
The  roads  were  muddy,  the  farmers  busy,  and  the  streets 

104 


THE  SPY  105 

were  practically  deserted.  Even  Lincoln's  Eastern  tour  and 
inauguration  had  scarcely  excited  a  ripple.  To  be  sure,  the 
air  was  full  of  rumors :  That  the  Southern  Confederacy  had 
gone  to  pieces ;  that  Lincoln  had  backed  down  and  yielded 
up  everything;  that  France  and  England  had  recognized 
the  Southern  Confederacy ;  that  100,000  men  were  marching 
northward  from  the  Gulf  and  putting  every  Abolitionist  to 
the  sword;  that  Lincoln  and  his  entire  Cabinet  had  been 
assassinated ;  that  Lincoln  had  sworn  that  he  would  end  the 
whole  race  controversy  by  compelling  every  white  man  to 
marry  a  black  woman,  and  vice  versa;  that  Davis  had  a 
legion  of  spies  in  every  Northern  neighborhood,  and  that  at 
a  given  signal  they  would  rise  and  massacre  everybody  that 
stood  by  Lincoln ;  and  that  even  the  world  was  soon  to  come 
to  an  end — but  said  rumors  were  short-lived.  It  was  the 
hush  before  the  storm. 

Armentrout  was  busy  sharpening  plows  and  had  but  little 
to  say. 

Hank  Gordon  was  uncommunicative.  When  asked  if  he 
would  continue  as  postmaster  under  a  Black  Republican 
administration,  he  replied :  "By  Gawd,  Ah'd  ruthuh  be  uh 
chambuhmaid  t'  V  el'funt  th'n  t'  staiy  hyar  uh  durn  daiy 
lunguh'n  Ah  hez  tuh !" 

Mamie,  his  assistant,  giggled.  She  knew  his  application 
for  a  renewal  of  his  commission  as  postmaster  at  New  Rich 
mond,  endorsed  by  Drs.  Culpepper  and  Boynton,  Hiram 
Goldbeck,  president  of  the  Calhoun  Bank;  Nic  Tutwiler, 
Voe  Bijaw,  and  several  others,  had  already  been  forwarded 
to  Washington.  There  was  a  rumor  that  Armentrout  was 
"making  a  try  for  it,"  and  for  the  honor  of  the  town  it  was 
felt  that  no  "upstaht  blacksmith"  should  ever  be  postmaster 
at  New  Richmond. 

"Nic's  triflunuh  thun  aivuh,"  Mrs.  Tutwiler  informed  the 
neighbors.  "Baituh  gun  ut  en  single  hahnus,  Ah  raickun." 


106  AMERICANS  ALL 

Nic,  sunning  himself  in  front  of  the  "hotel,"  stretched 
himself  and  gaped.  "Oh,  shucks !  Nuthin'  doin',"  emitting 
with  geometrical  precision  an  enormous  volume  of  dark, 
amber-colored  saliva  on  a  frog  that  was  making  for  a  minia 
ture  pond  in  the  street,  and  taking  a  fresh  "chaw  o'  dawg- 
laig."  "Fish  boitin'  moighty  foine,  but  thet  raid-haidid 
wormun  o'  moine  won'  lut  meh  go.  Some  folks  gut  no 
feelin',  daggone  ut !' 

Felix  Palfrey  was  busy  teaching  "moo-sik  an'  zee  lang- 
widge.' "  Indeed,  after  a  certain  memorable  evening,  he  had 
become  the  busiest  man  in  New  Richmond.  And  the  busier 
he  became  the  more  multitudinous  and  bewildering  were  his 
gestures  and  grimaces,  and  the  greater  his  difficulty  in 
"spikin'  or  comprend-tw^-  yo'  zo  ver'  strenge  Anglaise  lang- 
widge." 

But  to  all  that  was  transpiring  in  the  outer  world  he  was 
seemingly  utterly  oblivious.  "Wat  ees  eet  all  ab-oot?"  he 
would  anxiously  inquire  of  some  ultra-Abolitionist.  And 
when  his  eager  informer,  kindling  with  wrath  at  the  mention 
of  Jeff  Davis  and  the  Southern  Confederacy,  had  given  him 
the  last  vestige  of  knowledge  and  surmise,  the  innocent 
Felix  would  shake  his  head,  shrug  his  shoulders,  and  ex 
claim,  "Eet  ees  all  zo  ver'  strenge.  Je  ne  comprends  pas!" 

One  day  he  said  to  the  blacksmith,  "Mees-faz'n?  Armeen- 
troot,  do  yo'  teenk  da  veel  bee — ah,  var-r?" 

"Wah  ?"  the  blacksmith  exploded.  "Wah  ?  Weel,  Ah  suld 
saiy !  Whah  yuh  ben  liv'n',  yuh  damn'  li'l  roont  ?" 

"R-roont?    I  no  comprend !    Bud  veel  zee  Nort'  vight?" 

"Foight?    Yus,  loike  haill  'n'  daimnashun!" 

Instantly  shoulders  were  a-shrug,  and  arms  uplifted. 
Blank  wonder  and  misery,  pitiably  ignorant,  overspread  his 
countenance.  'Sacre!  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  Grace  an  del!  Hor- 
ree-bl'l  Hor-f££-bl' !  Den  yo'  favoreet,  yo'  Mees-taire — 
ah,  Leen-cocw,  veel  'e  be  keel'?" 


THE  SPY  107 

"No'  by  uh  damsite!"  shouted  old  Amsden. 

"An'  Mees-taire — ah,  Da-vces,  veel  'e  nud  alzo  be  keel'? 
An'  all  zee  peopl'  zo  ver'  niz  ar-oond  'eer-r  ?  An'  yo'  Mees- 
taire — ah,  Ar-meen-troot,  veel  yo'  nud  alzo  bee — ah,  moor- 
daire'?" 

That  was  too  much  for  the  old  blacksmith.  "See  hyar, 
yuh  damned  HT  goslin'.  Yo'  gang  hame  tae  yuh  maw  'n' 
taill  'er  t'  poot  uh  diapuh  on  yuh."  Then  with  deep  scorn 
added,  "Ah  ver'  mooch  f card  yo'  ged  keel'  alzo !" 

"I  ver'  mooch  t'ank  yo',  Mees-taire — " 

"Git  I" 

If  "Mees-taire  Ar-mten-feesh —  ah,  troot,"  could  have 
peeked  through  a  keyhole  an  hour  later  at  the  boarding- 
house  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Barnes,  he  would  have  seen  the 
"damned  HT  goslin' "  mimicking  him  to  perfection,  and 
roaring  with  laughter. 

To  Simonson  these  were  busy  days.  His  first  care  was  for 
his  mother,  at  whose  call  he  had  come  to  New  Richmond. 
To  leave  Boston  with  all  its  advantages,  the  faculty,  and 
friends  he  had  made  at  Cambridge,  and  his  already  promis 
ing  outlook  for  a  successful  professional  career,  had  been  a 
sore  trial ;  but  there  had  been  no  alternative.  He  had  pleaded 
with  his  mother  to  come  to  Boston  and  make  a  home  for  him 
— but  no.  With  that  utterly  unreasonable  and  inexplicable 
fidelity  women,  in  every  other  way  pliable,  cling  to  brutal 
and  disreputable  husbands,  Madge  Simonson  refused  to 
abandon  her  life  partner.  Nothing  would  do  but  "Sammy" 
must  come  to  her. 

Nor  was  call  or  response  prompted  by  an  unusual  measure 
of  affection.  She  had  never  been  an  affectionate  mother  to 
him,  nor  had  he  ever  felt  that  adoration  for  her  that  most 
mothers  inspire  in  their  sons.  She  was  a  woman  in  distress, 
always  in  distress;  often  vilely  tongue-lashed;  sometimes 
brutally  assaulted;  always  neglected;  frequently  utterly 


108  AMEEICANS  ALL 

abandoned — that  was  her  whole  miserable  history ;  and  that 
constituted  her  sole  appeal  to  her  son.  They  had  nothing  in 
common.  In  his  struggles  to  secure  an  education,  and  rise 
above  his  sordid  surroundings,  she  had  never  in  any  way 
mothered  him.  Indeed,  father  and  mother  alike  had  con 
stantly  opposed  his  ambitions,  put  every  possible  obstacle  in 
his  way,  and  bitterly  resented  what  they  called  his  "high- 
falutin'  notions." 

But  now  Abe  Simonson  was  prematurely  old  and  broken 
from  constant  dissipation  and  nameless  vices — a  disgrace, 
scapegrace,  and  outcast — while  the  mother  was  left  wholly 
unprovided  for.  To  be  known  as  their  son  was  at  once  a 
calamity — a  business  handicap,  and  a  social  anathema. 

Nevertheless,  with  grim  determination  and  devotion  to 
duty,  "our  Sammy,"  as  his  derelict  parents  now  maudlinly 
called  him,  had  come  to  New  Richmond  to  discharge  the 
obligations  of  a  loyal  son  as  to  worthy,  honorable  parents. 
If  on  his  part  there  was  lacking  enthusiasm,  because  he  had 
been  shamefully  neglected  and  abused  in  his  childhood,  it 
but  adds  to  our  sense  of  his  high  heroism  and  chivalry  in 
sacrificing  taste  and  worldly  advantage  to  the  performance 
of  a  task  which  many  sons  of  excellent  parents  would  have 
deemed  onerous  and  quixotic. 

Lincoln — that  face!  He  was  haunted  by  Lincoln's  face 
and  words.  But  he  was  glad  he  had  stood  his  ground  with 
Mr.  Lincoln ;  that  he  had  spoken  his  mind  frankly  and  fear 
lessly,  and  immeasurably  glad  he  had  been  permitted  to  see 
him.  States'  rights  he  was  to  the  core ;  a  Democrat  by  both 
heredity  and  preference;  recognizing  the  devout  patriotism 
of  both  Federal  and  Confederate,  yet  always  feeling  a  special 
affection  and  reverence  for  the  Confederate ;  with  stern  and 
equal  justice  vowing  never  to  help  the  North  coerce  the 
South,  nor  the  South  to  coerce  the  North ;  glowing  with  the 
high  pride  and  joy  in  the  South  that,  with  its  heaven-born 


THE  SPY  109 

Democracy,  it  would  never  attempt  to  invade  the  North — 
all  that ! 

And  yet  Lincoln;  his  words;  and  that  face  so  quaint,  and 
humorous,  and  whimsical,  and  grotesque — yes ;  and  yet  so 
strong,  so  pathetic,  so  tragic !  Did  anybody,  could  anybody, 
ever  understand  him  ?  JEschylus  might  have  fathomed  him, 
or  Socrates,  or  Marcus  Aurelius — hardly  Aurelius,  he  was 
too  saturnin^ ;  Dante,  more  than  likely — only  he,  too,  lacked 
the  feminine  gentleness,  and  the  happy  bon  vivant,  healing 
and  strengthening  masculine  grotesquely ;  Becket  ? — no. 

And  Lincoln  had  been  so  considerate.  He  had  not  argued 
with  him,  or  disputed,  or  contradicted.  He  had  even  seemed 
glad  to  hear  opinions  contrary  to  those  he  himself  cherished, 
and  to  rejoice  when  his  pet  doctrines  were  dealt  savage 
blows.  He  now  recalled  the  fact,  blushingiy,  that  Lincoln 
had  said  but  little,  but  that  he  himself  had  been  very  talk 
ative  and  self-assertive.  But  if  Mr.  Lincoln  had  said  but 
little,  everything  he  had  said  had  been  worthy  of  consi<iera- 
tion  and  remembrance.  One  remark  puzzled  him — the' rest 
he  thought  he  understood.  What  did  Mr.  Lincoln  mean 
when  he  said,  "You  will  ripen,  Sammy — you  will  ripen"? 

But  with  all  his  anxieties,  and  vexing  and  perplexing 
problems,  there  was  also  always,  always  after  that  first  eve 
ning  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's,  one  object  of  supreme  concern, 
sometimes  eclipsing  all  else — Marforie. 

On  the  evening  of  the  Fourth  of  July  there  was  a  merry 
party  at  The  Maples.  The  rooms  were  decorated  with  mid 
summer  ferns  and  flowers,  and  the  guests  were  in  a  festive 
mood.  If  during  the  day  there  had  been  restraint  and 
anxious  thoughts  and  forebodings,  now  all  was  dismissed. 
The  most  select  people  were  there:  the  Culpeppers,  Gold- 
becks,  Gordons,  Professor  and  Mrs.  Pinckney,  the  Reverend 
and  Mrs.  Henry  Lee  Frothingay,  Hugh  Grant,  Miss  Freda 


AMERICANS  ALL 

Levering  and  her  brother  Albert  Sidney,  just  graduated 
from  Hampden-Sidney  College,  and  many  of  the  younger 
set.  The  only  outsiders  present  were  Palfrey  and  Simonson. 

Palfrey's  identity  and  mission  were  known  to  but  few. 
Even  Professor  Pinckney  supposed  him  to  be  simply  an 
erratic  vagrant;  poor,  but  not  exactly  indigent;  gifted, 
almost  a  genius,  but  unpractical ;  Europeanly-informed,  but 
wholly  unversed  in  affairs  American;  and  admitted  to 
their  circle  on  account  of  his  picturesqueness,  a  certain 
foreign  air  and  distinction,  and  his  musical  virtuosity. 

Of  course  the  young  lawyer  had  been  invited  because 
Judge  Gildersleeve  had  faith  in  him  and  wanted  to  befriend 
him,  regardless  of  his  disreputable  parents. 

To  most  of  the  guests,  however,  he  was  under  suspicion — 
there  was  a  rumor  that  he  had  been  to  see  Lincoln,  and  that 
he  was  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing.  True,  Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve's  vise  was  sufficient;  but  was  the  Judge  himself  as 
enthusiastically  loyal  to  the  cause,  and  as  relentless  in  his 
hostility  to  the  tyrannical  Lincoln  as  he  ought  to  be?  Dr. 
Culpepper  and  Voe  Bijaw  had  their  doubts. 

At  dinner  the  young  lawyer  was  seated  next  to  Marjorie ; 
for  which  he  was  grateful.  However,  there  was  little  chance 
for  private  conversation.  The  air  was  full  of  war  and 
politics,  to  the  true  Southerner  titillating  and  stimulating  as 
strong  liquor.  Grace  was  hardly  said  before  a  well-known 
voice  was  heard  declaiming: 

"Quoth  Horace,  *'Jam  litui  strepunt ;  jam  fulgor  armorum 
terret  fugaces  equos  que  vultus  equitum.  Jam  videor  audire 
magnos  duces  sordidos  non  indecoro  pulvere,  et  cuncta  terra- 
rum  subacta.'  Thus  history  repeats  itself,  and  the  poet 
sings  a  deathless  song." 

*  Now  the  clarions  sound ;  now  the  glittering  of  arms  terrifies  the 
flying  steeds  and  dazzles  the  eyes  of  the  riders.  Already  I  seem  to 
hear  of  mighty  leaders  stained  with  no  inglorious  dust,  and  all  the 
world  subdued. 


THE  SPY  HI 

A  salvo  of  applause  rewarded  the  Doctor,  who,  continuing, 
said:  "The  Pride  of  the  House  of  the  Leverings  is  here, 
fresh  from  the  classic  shades  of  old  Hampden-Sidney  Col 
lege.  Sir,  give  us  a  sip  of  Sabine  wine  from  Horace's  far- 
famed  Grecian  jar." 

There  was  another  round  of  cheers,  followed  by  tumul 
tuous  calls  for  Albert  Levering. 

Now,  Albert  was  a  prodigious  joker,  and  everyone 
expected  the  good  Doctor  to  be  hoisted  on  his  own  petard; 
nor  were  they  disappointed. 

"Really,  Dr.  Culpepper,  I  can  think  of  but  one  Horatian 
line." 

"Let's  have  it!"    The  call  was  unanimous. 

"Very  well,"  and  there  was  a  look  of  mock  solemnity  on 
his  face;  "it  is  this:  *'Vitia  et  modos  bellique  ludumque 
Fortunae  gravesque  amicitias  principum,  et  arma  uncta 
cruoribus  nondum  expiatis,  opus  plenum  periculosae  aleoe 
et  incedis  per  ignes  suppositos  doloso  cineri.' " 

"Translate !  translate !"  But  Albert,  laughing,  shook  his 
head,  and  the  Doctor  plainly  was  vexed. 

"No  matter,"  said  the  amiable  hostess.  "There  was  some 
thing  in  it  about  'expiation,'  and  we  can  guess  the  rest." 
Albert  smiled,  but  the  Doctor  looked  glum. 

But  the  conversation  now  was  at  full  tide,  under  cover  of 
which,  Marjorie,  stealing  a  glance  at  her  vis-a-vis,  said: 
"We  don't  see  much  of  you,  Mr.  Simonson.  You  shouldn't 
hold  yourself  so  aloof;  really,  Papa  is  a  great  admirer  of 
yours." 

"I  am  indeed  grateful,  Miss  Marjorie.  From  the  first  I 
have  felt  that  Judge  Gildersleeve  was  my  friend." 


*The  errorc  and  the  operation  of  war,  and  of  the  sport  of  For 
tune,  and  of  the  fatal  confederacies  of  the  chiefs,  and  of  danger 
ous  hazard;  and  thou  walkest  over  fires  concealed  beneath  treach 
erous  ashes. 


H2  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Oh,  but  it  isn't  confined  to  Papa.  Brother  Fred  swears 
by  you,  and  so " 

"Marjorie !"  It  was  Harold  Culpepper  speaking.  The 
young  lawyer  was  inwardly  wrathful,  and  Marjorie  only 
faintly  smiled  as  she  looked  up. 

"I  say  this  is  our  eighty-fifth  Independence  Day,  and 
Lela  disputes  my  word ;  and  so  I — I  just  thought  I  would — 
would  leave  it  to  you." 

"It  isn't  so,  Marjorie,"  retorted  Lela  Frothingway.  "It's 
just  because  Harold's " 

"No  matter,  Lela "  But  Marjorie's  voice  was  drowned 

by  a  gale  of  laughter  excited  by  a  witty  remark  of  Felix 
Palfrey's. 

"I'm  not  versed  in  the  silken  and  perfumed  phrases  of 
the  courtier,"  the  young  lawyer  resumed,  "and  what  I'm 
going  to  say  now  I  would  not  say  for  a  long  time,  never, 
perhaps,  only  we  don't  meet  very  often.  And  it's  this: 
I  have  known  just  one  happy  hour  in  my  life,  and  for  that 
I  am  indebted  to  you.  Forgive  me!  I  had  no  right  to 
say  it." 

Marjorie's  face  was  lowered  to  a  rose,  as  though  she 
were  examining  its  petals.  "That's  the  dearest  speech  to 
which  I  ever  listened."  Her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper. 
"But  why  shouldn't  we  meet  oftener?" 

"Oh,  there  are  many  reasons,  Miss  Gildersleeve,  which, 
for  the  moment,  you  generously  forget,  or  waive  aside." 

"Name  some  of  them,  please,"  still  examining  the  rose, 
but  now  there  was  a  smile  in  the  corners  of  her  eyes.  "Name 
some  of  them,"  she  repeated. 

For  the  moment  he  was  nonplused.  The  challenge  was 
unexpected.  Then,  with  a  glance  at  the  notable  families 
present,  a  look  Marjorie  did  not  fail  to  observe,  he  said: 
"Well,  I  do  not  belong  to  the  F.  F.  V.'s,  or  the  F.  F.  K.'s, 
or  the  F.  F.'s  of  anywhere." 


THE  SPY 

"Neither  did  the  Founder  of  any  great  House.  You  know 
there  always  has  to  be  a  beginning.  Even  the  Amazon  must 
have  its  fountain-head.  Go  on !" 

"You're  making  fun  of  me." 

"I'm  not — pardon  me.  What  are  these  idlers  and  dawdlers 
about  us,  who  have  accomplished  nothing  compared  with 
those  obscure  forbears  who  gave  significance  to  the  terms 
you  use  ?  Go  on,  please." 

"Well— culture." 

"A.  B. — Harvard ;  LL.B. — Harvard ;  Barrister — Supreme 
Court ;  Traveler.  Go  on." 

The  young  lawyer  was  blushing.  "Then,  Miss  Gilder- 
sleeve,  I  am  lacking  in  social  culture.  Look  at  your  brother 
Fred,  at  Palfrey,  at  Mr.  Harold  Culpepper.  They  know 
how  to  be  entertaining — I  do  not." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  fiance,  and,  without  removing 
them,  said :  "I  shall  never  forget  that  first  night ;  I  was  never 
so  intensely  interested  in  my  life." 

There  was  a  movement  toward  the  parlor.  Palfrey  was 
going  to  sing. 

"I  say,  Marjorie,"  said  Hugh  Grant,  approaching  and 
bowing  to  the  young  lawyer,  "you  and  Simonson  here  have 
been  positively  funereal  all  evening.  What  have  you  been 
talking  about? — holding  an  inquest?" 

"How  gruesome,  Hugh !"  exclaimed  Freda  Levering.  "On 
whom  or  what  could  they  be  holding  an  inquest,  pray  ?" 

"Oh,  the  Union,  of  course.  Quoth  Horace — didn't  you 
hear  him?  'Dead,  deader,'  he  said,  'than  a  cat  scourged 
of  its  ninth  life.' " 

"Oh,  Hugh,  how  can  you  speak  so  lightly?"  Hugh  and 
Freda  passed  on. 

Just  then  Harold  approached  and,  with  an  air  of  pro 
prietorship,  said:  "Come  on,  Marjorie.  Will  have  to  have 
an  introduction  to  you  next.  Palfrey  is  going  to  sing  as 
soon  as  we  quiet  down." 


AMEBICANS  ALL 

As  Marjorie  took  her  escort's  arm  she  turned  toward  the 
young  lawyer,  as  if  to  adjust  an  ornament  on  her  sleeve,  and 
quietly  said :  "I  have  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you  tonight 
before  you  go."  Harold  for  the  moment  was  replying  to  a 
question  asked  by  the  rector's  wife,  and  did  not  observe  what 
was  going  on. 

Palfrey  sang  song  after  song,  and  after  each  was  roundly 
applauded.  By  most  of  the  guests  he  was  regarded  with 
mingled  mirth  and  wonder.  He  was  so  naive,  so  innocent, 
so  helpless,  and  yet  so  good-natured,  they  could  not  refrain 
from  liking  him.  They  felt  free  to  bate  him,  to  mercilessly 
jibe  him  because  they  thought  they  could  neither  hurt  his 
feelings  nor  awaken  resentment.  They  were  sure  the  keenest 
scimiter  of  wit  could  not  pierce  the  armor  of  his  ignorance 
of  "zee  zo  ver'  strenge  Anglais  lang-widge." 

"Say,  Hugh,  who  is  this  funny  little  foreigner,  anyhow?" 

"Freda,"  replied  Hugh,  with  a  grave  countenance,  "he's 
the  missing  link.  On  all-fours  you'd  take  him  for  a  monkey ; 
on  twos-only  you'd  take  him  for  a  man.  Again:  humor 
him  and  you'd  call  him  an  angel;  contrary  him  and  you'd 
know  he's  a  devil.  In  short,  my  dear,  he's  a  sort  of  floating 
rib — lost — lost  somewhere  between  the  biliary-duct  and  the 
gall-bladder." 

"But  be  serious,  won't  you?  Is  he  just  a  crazy  music- 
master  and  language-teacher,  and  nothing  more  ?  Tell  me !" 

"I'm  yours  to  command,  Freda,  but  now  you  ask  of  me 
the  impossible.  Whom  do  the  folks  think  he  is,  if  he  is 
other  than  whom  he  pretends  to  be  ?" 

"Some  think  he's  Mr.  Lincoln's  representative ;  others  say 
he's  an  emissary  direct  from  Jefferson  Davis." 

"Knows  too  much  to  be  here  for  Jeff  Davis;  doesn't 
know  enough  to  represent  Abraham  Lincoln." 

"Why,  Hugh,  you  talk  like  Amsden  Armentrout." 

"Lots  of  bigger  fools  than  old  Ams." 


THE  SPY 

"Then  you — why,  you — why,  Hugh,  presently  you'll  be 
shouting  for  Lincoln." 

"Lots  of  folks  have  shouted  for  worse  men." 

Freda  Levering  was  very  happy.  At  heart  she  was  a 
devout  lover  of  the  Union.  Of  all  men,  she  most  revered 
Lincoln ;  but  of  this  she  had  to  remain  silent.  Had  old  Joel 
Levering,  her  father,  known  it,  he  would  have  disowned  her. 

Between  Palfrey's  performances,  Dr.  Culpepper  was  dis 
coursing,  to  a  more  or  less  interested  group,  on  Beauregard, 
the  fall  of  Sumter,  the  removal  of  the  Confederate  capital  to 
Richmond;  Lincoln,  Davis;  the  treatment  of  the  Confederate 
peace  commissioners,  and  the  probable  action  of  Congress, 
which  had  met  in  session  extraordinary  that  day.  The  young 
lawyer  listened  with  deep  attention,  but  added  nothing.  At 
times  he  felt  an  attempt  was  being  made  to  draw  him  out, 
and  that  he  was  being  watched.  Harold  and  Marjorie  had 
left  the  room. 

"An'  now  I  zing  onl'  una  more  piez,"  said  Felix,  turning 
on  the  stool.  " Wat  yu  zay  eet  ees  ?  Eet  ees  yu  Indpend-enz 
Day,  zee — ah,  Juillet  zee  Fort;  zee,  ah,  le  Quatrienne? 
Zhall  eet  bee  'Zee  Un-ton  Forev-am>/  or  'Zee  Bang  Star 
Ban-MQtVtf'f  Out,  oui,  assurementl  'Zee  Spang  Star  Ban- 
nairef" 

"Damn  the  Union !"  roared  Dr.  Culpepper.  "Damn  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner!  The  Southern  Confederacy! — all 
hail  the  Stars  and  Bars !" 

"Hoo-dy  dae,  fouks."  Armentrout  was  standing  at  the 
door,  hat  in  hand.  "Ah  juist  ca'd,  Jedge,  tae  awsk  gin  Ah 
maus  hae  thum  papuhs  'knowl'ged  'foah  uh  Notuhry.  Didna 
ken  yir  hed  coomp'ny  er  Ah  wudna  coom,  though  Ah  dae 
loov  zee  guid  moo-zik." 

Felix  gleefully  clapped  his  hands  and  declared  it  was  "una 
gud,  ah,  jo-ak";  and  Judge  Gildersleeve  would  have  invited 


116  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  blacksmith  in,  but  he  had  departed  at  once,  as  uncere 
moniously  as  he  had  appeared. 

Off  to  one  side,  Dr.  Culpepper  was  saying,  *"Notat  de 
designat  oculis  ad  caedam  unumquemque  nostrum." 

"Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope,  dear  Doctor,"  said  young 
Levering.  "Why,  you're  more  worked  up  over  the  War, 
and  are  by  far  more  acrid  and  bellicose,  than  the  people 
down  South.  And  as  for  old  Amsden — why,  he's  a  corker! 
And  as  to  my  patriotism,  don't  worry.  Wrote  to  Bobby  Lee 
the  other  day  and  told  him  that  when  he  needed  me,  just  to 
let  me  know — that  no  Levering  ever  went  back  on  old 
Virginia." 

"All  right,  Al,  my  boy.  Of  course  you're  above  suspicion, 
but  that's  more  than  can  be  said  for  some  folks,"  looking 
toward  a  group  composed,  among  others,  of  Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve,  Hugh  Grant,  .and  Samuel  Simonson.  "By  the  way, 
Al,  Captain  Grant  started  with  a  regiment  yesterday  from 
Camp  Yates,  at  Springfield,  to  Quincy.  Guess  there'll  be 
fighting  pretty  soon  in  Missouri." 

There  was  commotion  and  a  gale  of  laughter  at  the  door. 

"Gentlemen  and  ladies,  all  hail !"  making  a  sweeping  bow 
to  everybody  in  the  room.  It  was  Vergie  Culpepper,  who 
had  been  to  another  party  with  Rodney  Clarke. 

For  a  moment  the  teacher  of  "zee  moo-zik  an'  lang- 
widge' "  forgot  himself.  Under  her  spell  he  arose,  bowed 
with  courtly  deference,  and,  in  perfect  English,  replied, 
"Fairest  Venus,  Queen  of  the  Day,  Empress  of  the  Night, 
adored  of  all  the  Seasons,  we  do  you  homage !" 

It  was  all  very  theatrical,  melodramatic ;  but  only  Vergie 
and  the  young  lawyer  heard  and  marked  it  all.  Palfrey's 
totally  unexpected  speech  and  manner  were  a  revelation  to 
the  young  lawyer.  He  now  remembered  Freda  Levering's 


He  notes  and  marks  out  with  his  eyes  each  of  us  for  slaughter. 


THE  SPY 

question  addressed  to  Hugh  Grant  earlier  in  the  evening, 
and  which,  in  passing,  he  had  overheard.  Now  the  question 
kept  ringing,  "Hugh,  who  is  this  funny  little  fellow, 
anyhow  ?" 

Vergie,  christened  Virginia  Lee,  daughter  of  Dr.  Fairfax 
Culpepper  and  his  wife,  Charlotte  Pulford,  had  a  striking 
personality.  In  appearance  she  might  have  claimed  kinship 
with  the  lords  of  the  Mediterranean  when  Greece  and  Rome 
ruled  the  world — perhaps  a  daughter  of  Aspasia,  or  Hypatia, 
or  Zenobia,  or  Cleopatra.  She  had  inherited  a  superb 
physique,  tall  and  commanding,  which  a  care-free,  outdoor 
life  had  ripened  to  perfection.  Her  father  sometimes  play 
fully  called  her  a  "buccaneer,"  perhaps  because  an  ancestor 
in  command  of  a  British  ship  had  turned  pirate  and  become 
a  terror.  Her  luxuriant  jet-black  hair  and  large,  flashing 
black  eyes  accentuated  the  beauty  of  her  small,  even,  milk- 
white  teeth.  Her  dark  olive  complexion  glowed  with  health, 
while  her  full,  cupid-curved,  cherry-red  lips  told  of  slumber 
ing  passion.  Lithe,  intense,  there  was  a  feline  grace  in  all 
her  movements.  Vital — no  other  word  could  so  well  express 
it.  There  was  neither  absence  nor  lack  of  any  of  the  virtues 
or  graces  essential  to  the  most  ideal  womanhood,  yet  there 
was  always  an  added  plus-measure  of  physical  vitality.  Had 
she  been  an  evil  woman  the  havoc  she  would  have  wrought 
would  have  been  immeasurable  and  irreparable.  Her  excess 
of  vitality  fairly  electrified  the  air  about  her,  while  her 
beauty  and  symmetry  lent  wings  to  men's  imaginations. 
Happily  married,  she  would  have  become  not  unlike  Cornelia 
and  given  to  the  world  a  race  not  inferior  to  the  Gracchi. 

She  was  educated.  Her  father,  genially  yclept  "Quoth 
Horace,"  had  thoroughly  grounded  her  in  Latin.  Her 
mother,  a  graduate  of  the  famous  Ecole  de  1'Etoile,  in  Paris, 
had  perfected  her  in  French.  In  other  studies  her  standing 
had  been  high.  She  was  a  daring  horse-woman,  danced 


118  AMERICANS  ALL 

superbly,  like  her  father  was  fond  of  politics,  and  was  witty 
and  brilliant  in  conversation.  Though  only  twenty,  she  knew 
herself,  and  was  as  chaste  as  she  was  fascinating. 

For  the  first  time  she  thought  herself  in  love ;  and  because 
she  could  not  be  openly  courted,  and  as  openly  respond,  she 
was  desperate.  Hers  was  a  glorious  love  for  which  any 
king  might  well  have  waived  aside  a  crown.  The  wild 
buccaneering  discords  of  her  regnant  nature  had  been 
touched  to  an  equally  wild  but  now  exquisitely  harmonized 
rhapsody  of  tender  emotion.  Felix  Palfrey's  ancestry  had 
captured  her  fancy;  his  broad  views,  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  devotion  to  the  Southern  cause,  had  captivated 
her  intellect ;  his  perfect  culture — always  gallant  and  chival 
rous,  yet  never  overdoing  or  underdoing  anything — had 
completed  her  artistic  conquest. 

Half-listening  to  Rodney  Clarke,  and  making  random 
responses,  she  was  contrasting  Felix  and  the  young  lawyer, 
who  were  conversing  but  a  few  feet  distant.  Marking  the 
young  lawyer's  leonine  head  and  rugged  features ;  body 
towering  head  and  shoulders  above  her  lover;  surcharged, 
like  herself,  with  physical  vitality;  speaking  straight  out 
and  with  no  interlarding  of  foreign  words  or  phrases; 
making  but  few  gestures,  which,  though  sometimes  awk 
ward,  were  always  strong  and  forceful,  there  gradually  stole 
over  her  a  physical  sensation,  not  yet  psychically  analyzed, 
of  his  superior  height  and  girth  and  vitality  and  passion, 
more  nearly  equal  than  Palfrey's  to  her  own;  superior  to 
anything  she  could  ever  hope  for,  and  she  felt  for  the 
masterful  young  lawyer  a  sudden  in-rush  of  hatred. 

It  was  no  fault  of  the  young  lawyer's  that  he  was  as  he 
was ;  nevertheless,  she  wanted  to  wound  him,  torture  him, 
see  him  writhe ;  it  would  afford  her  relief,  even  happiness, 
to  see  him  suffer,  agonize.  If  she  could  only  lower  his 
imperious  spirit,  make  him  an  object  of  ridicule !  Suddenly 


THE  SPY  H9 

the  evil  one  gave  her  an  inspiration — it  must  have  been 
the  evil  one — and,  without  waiting  for  the  sobering  second 
thought,  she  said : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Simonson."  Her  voice  was  strangely  loud 
and  raucous,  and  everyone's  attention  was  instantly  arrested. 
The  young  lawyer  bowed  and  gave  her  respectful  attention. 

"I  saw  your  father,  old  Abe  Simonson,  tonight." 

The  young  lawyer  paled,  but  made  no  response. 

"Yes;  I  saw  him — drunk  as  usual.  The  town-marshal 
had  him  under  arrest,  and  was  taking  him  to  the  calaboose." 

In  an  instant  Dr.  Culpepper  was  at  her  side.  "Come  with 
me,  Virginia" — his  voice  was  cruelly  stern.  Then  to  the 
young  lawyer  he  said,  "Mr.  Simonson,  as  Virginia's  father 
I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  when  she  has  recovered  her  right 
mind  she  shall  make  fitting  apology  to  you  in  person." 
Then  turning  away,  he  said,  "Come,  Charlotte;  come, 
Harold ;  our  family  is  in  disgrace.  We  will  go  home  now." 

Even  before  the  Culpeppers  had  unceremoniously  de 
parted,  Judge  Gildersleeve  had  reached  the  young  lawyer's 
side,  and,  with  a  grieved  voice,  said : 

"That  our  guest,  here  at  the  solicitation  of  my  entire 
family,  should  have  been  so  grossly  and  wantonly  insulted, 
fills  us,  overwhelms  us,  with  deepest  grief.  The  shame  is 
ours,  not  his.  I  hardly  need  remind  you  that  duty,  no  less 
than  honorable  inclination,  will  require  that  no  mention  be 
made  of  what  has  occurred  here  tonight;  to  this  I  add  my 
personal  injunction.  I  shall  now  bid  you  good-night,  and 
request  the  honor  of  Mr.  Simonson's  company  in  the  library, 
where  my  family  presently  will  join  us." 

Gallantly  offering  his  arm  to  the  young  lawyer,  he  escorted 
him  to  the  library.  The  other  guests  quietly  took  their  leave. 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  the  young  lawyer  was  taking  his 
leave  of  Marjorie  in  the  hall,  Marjorie  gently  said : 

"Mr.  Simonson,  will  you  take  my  hand?"     There  were 


120  AMERICANS  ALL 

tears  in  her  eyes,  and  the  young  lawyer,  as  in  a  dream,  took 
her  extended  hand. 

"To  all  Papa  and  Mama  and  Fred  have  expressed  by 
word  and  deed,  I  want  to  add  this  for  myself:  I,  Marjorie 
Gildersleeve,  will  always  be  your  sworn  friend  and  ally; 
I  shall  always  shield  and  defend  you,  you  dear,  brave,  noble 
boy ;  and  I  shall  always  pray  God  to  bless  and  keep  you. — 
Good-night." 

They  were  alone.  Her  lithe,  willowy,  queenly  body  was 
very  close  to  him,  and  the  odor  of  violets  rose  from  her 
hair.  Unconsciously  she  had  placed  both  her  hands  on 
his  arm.  Her  face  was  uplifted, — beautiful,  yet  pale,  pitiful, 
beseeching.  Tears  yet  lingered  on  her  cheeks;  in  her  eyes 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  more  than  pity,  and  he 
was  suddenly  conscious  of  an  overmastering  tumult  of  soul, — 
love,  madness,  soul-hunger,  holy  awe,  adoration.  A  thou 
sand  voices  within  him  cried,  "Marjorie,  Marjorie,  I  love 
you,  I  love  you ;  I  cannot  live  without  you !"  Tremblingly, 
haltingly,  scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  his  arms  encircled 
her,  drew  her  to  him ;  she  unresisting.  Silently,  wordlessly, 
as  angels  might  take  a  holy  sacrament,  their  lips  met  in  one 
long,  soul-satisfying  kiss.  Pillowing,  her  head  on  his  breast, 
her  arms  stole  about  his  neck  in  a  fervent,  lingering  embrace 
— how  long,  neither  of  them  knew  nor  cared.  Then  gently 
untwining  her  arms  and  putting  her  away  from  him,  holding 
her  at  arm's  length,  he  said : 

"Now  indeed  must  I  beg  your  forgiveness;  but  a  life 
spent  in  penitential  expiation  would  be  but  a  trifling  penalty 
for  what  has  been — heaven  to  me." 

"The  sin  is  all  mine,  if  it  be  a  sin ;  and  I  suppose  it  is  a 
sin;  for,"  Marjorie  went  on  unflinchingly,  "I  am  pledged 
to  marry  Mr.  Culpepper,  and  I  should  loathe  myself  if  I 
were  ever  to  be  recreant  to  a  solemn  vow.  But,  Sammy, 


THE  SPY  121 

dear,  'twas  all  my  fault.  I  meant  for  you  to  do  just  what 
you  did." 

"But,  now,"  and  her  voice  was  low  and  tremulous,  "as 
Papa  was  saying  this  evening  of  another  matter,  "let  'this 
be  as  though  it  had  never  been.  Let 'us  ever  be,"  and  she 
was  now  holding  both  his  hands,  "the  best,  the  nearest  and 
dearest  and  truest  of  friends!  And  as  I  said  that  other 
time:  Let  come  what  will,  of  woe  or  weal,  I  shall  always 
be  on  your  side." 

The  sultry  July  night  was  inky-black.  The  clouds  were  low 
ering,  and  in  the  northwest  an  ominous  storm  was  brewing. 
An  occasional  avant  courier  of  lightning  dashed  forth  in 
advance  of  the  whirling,  swirling,  seething  tempest,  then 
furiously  dashed  back  again;  while  the  sharp,  piercing 
echoes  of  the  hoofs  of  steeds  of  fire  trembled  a  moment  in 
the  troubled  air,  reechoed,  then  sullenly  died  away.  The  air 
was  motionless,  save  now  and  then  a  fitful  gust  of  wind, 
seemingly  half  thrust  forward,  then  fiercely  restrained  and 
drawn  back,  leaving  behind  a  melancholy  complaint  or 
prophecy  of  dire  disaster. 

Groping,  doubtly-blinded,  the  young  lawyer  had  just 
reached  the  gate  leading  up  the  long  avenue  of  maples  to 
the  Gildersleeve  Mansion,  when  he  heard  a  footfall.  He 
paused  a  moment,  breathlessly,  and  listened.  There's  some 
thing  uncanny  about  such  nights ;  then  even  the  bravest  are 
conscious  of  a  momentary,  nameless  terror — besides,  the 
young  lawyer  was  entirely  unstrung. 

"  'Tis  I,  Sammy,"  came  a  low  voice.  "I  couldn't  let  you 
go  till  I — I  said — something." 

She  was  now  before  him,  though  he  could  only  see  the 
vague  outline  of  the  white  gown  she  wore,  and  the  nebulous 
contour  of  her  face  and  head.  "O  Sammy,  it  can't  be — what 
I  said.  I — I  couldn't  be  your  friend — and  go  on  living  like 
that — you  know.  We  must  be  just — just  strangers.  Yon 


122  "  AMERICANS  ALL 

won't  blame — blame  me,  will  you?  But  I  must  take  it  all 
back — what  I  said.  I  can't  always  be  by  your  side,  and — 

and O  Sammy,  please  won't  you,  just  once  more,  since 

you're  n-never  to  come  back  again  ;  won't  you  please — pi — " 

"In  God's  name,  Miss  Gildersleeve,  Marjorie — will  you 
break  my  heart,  crush  out  my  very  life?" 

"But  w-won't  you,  please " 

"What,  darling ?    I  don't  understand." 

"W-won't  you  please,  just  once  more,  hold  me  in  your 
arms,  and  k-kiss  me — just  as  you  d-did  a  w-while  ago?" 

Yet  standing  in  the  gate  ten  minutes  later  he  saw  her,  just 
an  instant,  as  she  stood  alone  at  the  door  in  the  blinding  glare 
of  a  sudden  deluge  of  lightning — looking  toward  him  as  if 
in  everlasting  farewell ;  and  then  she  entered  the  house. 

To  the  young  lawyer  it  seemed  he  had  had  a  vision  of  an 
angel  robed  in  white,  with  flowing  tresses  of  burnished  gold, 
and  a  face  seraphic  but — unspeakably  sorrowful. 


CHAPTER   IX 

CONSCIENCE  SCOURGED— AN   UPROAR  IN  NEW  RICHMOND 

EARLY  the  following  morning  Dr.  Culpepper  and  Harold 
called   on    Samuel    Simonson   to   make   the   amende 
honorable  for  the  lamentable  occurrence  at  Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve's,  though  there  was  little  to  be  said. 

"My  daughter,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Culpepper,  with  deep  emo 
tion,  "has  wounded  you  most  grievously.  For  her  offense, 
so  utterly  without  warrant  or  provocation,  there  can  be  no 
excuse  or  palliation.  I  can  only  say,  sir,  that  we  deplore  it, 
more  than  I  can  find  language  to  express.  Fortunately, 
you  suffer  only  a  transient  annoyance.  For  you  the  unhappy 
incident  is  already  but  a  fleeting  memory,  happily  presently 
to  be  forgotten ;  for,  believe  me,  we  esteem  you  highly. 
But  for  us  there  can  be  no  erasure  or  forgetting  of  the  fact 
that  a  beloved  member  of  our  family  has  been  guilty  of  a 
most  atrocious  outrage.  Our  only  consolation  is,  though  a 
sorrowful  one,  my  daughter  at  the  time  was  not  mentally 
responsible.  Something,  unknown  to  us,  has  unsettled  her 
mind.  Besides,  she  now  is  very  ill.  Indeed,  at  midnight 
her  condition  was  so  alarming  I  summoned  Dr.  Boynton, 
who  is  still  at  her  bedside." 

Harold  added:  "Mother  and  I  are  deeply  grieved,  and 
earnestly  crave  your  merciful  consideration." 

The  young  lawyer  thanked  them  for  their  courtesy, 
assured  them  he  felt  no  animosity,  expressed  the  hope  that 
Miss  Culpepper's  illness  would  be  of  brief  duration,  and  felt 
relieved  when  they  departed. 

123 


124  AMERICANS  ALL 

"It  was  damnable,"  said  Hugh  Grant,  who  called  a  little 
later;  "but  Vergie  always  was  queer.  Pure  as  an  angel, 
proud  as  a  peacock,  and  high-tempered  as  the  devil."  The 
young  lawyer  smiled. 

"And  beautiful — distressingly  handsome !  And  passion — 
she's  a  tigress ;  belongs  to  the  genus  Felis.  Why,  were  she 
to  fall  in  love  with  a  man,  she'd  pounce  on  him  and — and 
devour  him,  then  penitently  grieve  herself  to  death.  The 

matter  with  her  is,  she's  too vital;  needs  a 

husband  like  Petruchio,  and  some — babies.  Vitality  in  a 
woman  is  all  right,  but  when  one  can't  touch  her  without 
being  volted  over,  and  his  nerves  being  set  to  tingling  like 
telegraph-wires  on  a  stormy  night,  and  his  brain  being 
electrolyzed  till  his  imagination  runs  riot  and  takes  leave  of 
reason "  Words  failed  him. 

"But  what  I  came  up  to  say  is,  every  son  and  daughter 
of  us  there  last  night  is  for  you.  After  leaving  the  Judge's 
the  whole  party  dropped  in  at  Freda's  and  joined  in  a  con 
spiracy.  Now,  don't  *'concursus  bonorum  omnium'  or  °'hic 
munitissimus  habendi  senatus  locus'  us.  Rest  assured,  Si- 
monson,  there  was  no  Vargunteius  or  Cornelius  or  Quintus 
Curius  there,  and  of  Fulvias  there  is  none  in  New  Rich 
mond.  Al  Levering  made  a  little  speech — you  know,  Al's 
just  home  from  Hampden-Sidney  College — and  said  you 
were  an  honor  to  the  community;  that  you  were  always 
honor-bright ;  that  your  blood  and  brain  and  brawn  had  no 
yellow  streak  or  splotch;  and  that  you  might  be  a  John- 
brownist  and  a  Wendellphillipist  and  a  Williamlloydgarrison- 
ist  and  an  Abrahamlincolnist  all  in  one — and,  you  know, 
folks  will  talk,  old  man — you  were  nevertheless  a  scholar 
and  a  gentleman,  and  that  he,  for  one,  proposed  to  stand 
by  you.  And  Freda,  the  little  minx,  jumped  to  her  feet 


*  The  assembly  of  all  the  good. 

*  This  most  fortified  place  of  holding  the  senate. 


CONSCIKNC'K  SC'OUKUJBD  125 

and  said,  "Many's  in  favor  of  the  motion,  stand  up !'  And, 
do  you  know,  every  sonuvagun  'n  daughteruvagoddess  was 
standing  quicker'n  a  wink." 

There  were  other  callers,  all  expressing  deepest  sympathy. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances  such  an  outpouring  of  sym 
pathy  would  have  been  infinitely  comforting,  and  such  assur 
ances  of  confidence  and  esteem  would  have  both  cheered  and 
strengthened  him ;  but  now  words  seemed  to  have  lost  their 
normal  potency.  He  could  understand  their  meaning,  but 
could  not  feel  their  force  or  sequence.  He  observed  the 
long  second-hand  of  the  clock  completing  the  circumference 
of  the  dial  in  three  mighty  strides,  twenty  seconds  to  a  stride, 
but  was  not  conscious  of  the  flight  of  time.  The  room  was 
growing  chill;  he  felt  the  discomfort,  but  did  not  observe 
the  open  window,  though  he  was  looking  at  it. 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  tirelessly,  ceaselessly,  droned, 
"Tick-tock,  tock-tick,  tick-tock,  tock-tick";  so  something 
within  him — something  he  couldn't  control — kept  repeating, 
"Vergie-Marjorie,  Marjorie-Vergie." 

Vergie  Culpepper  had  dealt  him  a  stunning  blow ;  and  the 
method  and  manner  with  which  she  had  done  it  caused  him 
to  writhe.  Yet  there  was  no  feeling  of  resentment — only  the 
horror  of  it ;  and  the  almost  unendurable  pain.  Why  did  she 
so  hate  him?  Why  had  she  assailed  him?  Why  had  she 
chosem  such  a  time  and  place  to  pour  upon  him  the  phials  of 
her  contemptuous  wrath  and  scorn?  Vainly  he  sought  an 
answer.  He  had  accepted  her  father's  explanation,  but  all 
the  while  he  knew  better.  She  hated  him  deeply,  malevo 
lently,  furiously — he  knew  it.  But  why?  And  thus  his  mind 
went  the  weary  round  like  one  lost  in  a  maze. 

Occasionally  he  thought  of  Marjorie,  and  this  was  even 
more  painful  because  it  brought  self-accusation  and  remorse. 
Writhing  at  the  remembrance  of  Vergie's  vitriolic  taunt,  he 
could  cool  and  soothe  his  burning  anguish  with  self-pity.  He 


126     „  AMERICANS  ALL 

was  innocent;  had  done  her  no  wrong.  Yes,  as  Hugh  had 
said,  "Vergie's  a  tigress,"  and  she  had  plunged  her  cruel 
fangs  into  his  very  soul — and  that,  too,  without  provocation ; 
even  her  father  and  brother  had  said  so. 

But  Marjorie!  Against  her  he  had  sinned.  She  for  whom 
he  would  have  died — it's  a  strong  word,  but  in  this  case  not 
too  strong — he  had  betrayed.  He  was  not  a  roue,  nor  had  he 
committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  But  lips  that  were  not  his 
to  kiss,  that  were  pledged  to  another,  he  had  kissed,  not  once 
only,  but  many  times,  not  conventionally,  but  in  a  very  tem 
pest  of  passion.  Likewise  a  form  pledged  to  another,  that 
he  knew  was  pledged  to  another,  he  had  held  in  his  arms, 
madly  pressed  to  his  bosom.  A  priceless,  irrestorable  treas 
ure  he  had  taken ;  to  his  account  he  charged  a  sacrilege  for 
which  there  could  be  no  atonement. 

And  the  manner  of  it!  He  had  taken  advantage  of  her 
tender  compassion ;  had  answered  pity  with  outrage.  Her 
noble  soul  had  clothed  him  with  all  the  attributes  of  knight 
hood  and  he  had  proved  himself  a  rake.  True,  she  had 
absolved  him;  like  a  glorious  expiating  priestess,  she  had 
taken  the  guilt  upon  herself;  but  that  did  not  make  his  act 
any  less  criminal,  or  his  crime  any  less  flagitious. 

"Who  am  I,  what  am  I,"  he  mercilessly  questioned  himself, 
"that  I  should  visit  wrath  upon  Virginia  Culpepper,  when,  in 
the  sight  of  heaven,  I  am  guilty  of  an  offense  so  much  more 
heinous?" 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Judge  Gildersleeve  called.  The 
Judge  was  very  kind,  very  gentle,  very  solemn — unusually 
so.  He  wasted  no  time  on  preliminaries. 

"Sammy,  I've  called  on  business.  It's  in  a  manner  confi 
dential.  Are  we  quite  alone  ?" 

"Yes,  Judge,"  wonderingly ;  "and  to  secure  ourselves  from 
interruption,  I'll  close  and  lock  the  door." 

"You  remember,  Sammy,  Caesar  begins  his  brochure,  De 


CONSCIENCE  SCOUEGED  127 

Bello  Gallico,  by  saying,  *'Gallia  est  omnis  divisa  in  partes 
tres' ;  so  what  I  have  to  say  comes  under  three  heads." 

"First,  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you."  '  He  paused,  slowly 
filled  the  bowl  of  his  pipe,  ignited  a  match  on  his  trouser- 
leg,  and,  after  a  few  vigorous  whiffs,  continued,  "Sammy,  I 
want  you  to  share  my  office  with  me." 

The  young  lawyer  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  but  the  old 
Judge  stopped  him. 

"You  haven't  heard  all  the  evidence  in  the  case,"  gravely. 
"When  I  leased  my  suite  over  the  bank,  I  thought  Fred 
would  study  law  with  me  and  ultimately  become  my  partner. 
This  he  has  decided  not  to  do;  so  I  have  an  unoccupied 
room.  I  might  take  a  student,  but  I  don't  care  to  do  that. 
What  I  want  is  some  one  that  is  companionable,  with  whom 
I  can  converse,  and  with  whom  I  can  consult,  in  whom  I  can 
confide,  and  who  is  agreeable  to  my  family.  Occasionally, 
too,  I  need  an  expert  opinion,  a  precedent  that  is  not  worn 
threadbare — a  decision  handed  down  by  some  great  Greek  or 
Roman  or  English  jurist  unknown  to  our  courts.  You  see, 
I'm  a  little  vain  of  my  reputation,  but,  if  I  do  say  it  myself, 
my  standing  is  rather  high  at  Springfield ;  and  even  Justice 
Taney  the  other  day  quoted  one  of  my  decisions.  Now,  I'd 
really  like  to  form  a  partnership  with  you.  'Gildersleeve  & 
Simonson'  wouldn't  look  bad,  eh,  Sammy?  But  as  I  am  on 
the  bench,  that  wouldn't  do.  However,  there's  no  reason 
why  we  shouldn't  work  together,  assuming  that  you  are 
willing ;  and  for  your  services  I'll  pay  you  any  amount  you 
may  require." 

The  young  lawyer's  torture  was  intense.  The  old  Judge 
was  so  gentle  and  lovable ;  his  faith  in  him,  though  a  com 
parative  stranger,  was  so  complete!  "Oh,  if  he  but  knew, 
if  he  but  knew — Marjorie — if  Marjorie  were  to  tell  her 
father— if " 


All  Gaul  is  divided  into  three  parts. 


128  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Then,  Sammy,  another  thing :  I  saw  Herndon  the  other 
day — you  know  the  firm,  'Lincoln  &  Herndon.'  Well,  it 
seems  Lincoln  has  instructed  Herndon  to  make  use  of  you 
in  government  cases  coming  before  the  courts  in  Southern 
Illinois — just  why,  I  don't  know — and  Herndon  didn't  know. 
Anyhow,  Herndon  wanted  to  know  how  you  were  panning 
out,  and  I  told  him  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  better 
man — that  you  knew  law,  were  equally  effective  before 
judge  and  jury,  and  that  there  was  that  about  you  that 
always  inspired  confidence.  Herndon  was  highly  pleased, 
and  said,  'Old  Abe  is  a  wonderful  judge  of  men,'  and  prom 
ised  to  write  to  you  in  a  few  days." 

The  Judge  paused  to  knock  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and 
to  help  himself  to  a  small  quantity  of  fine-cut. 

"Personally,  I  think  I  can  turn  some  business  your  way. 
Our  people  are  pretty  hot-headed,  and  there's  a  good  deal 
of  litigation — too  much.  The  best  two  foreign  clients  are 
the  Illinois  Central  and  the  National  Collectors'  Association. 
Rod  Clarke — you  remember  him — he  was  with  Vergie  Cul- 
pepper  last  night — is  the  attorney  for  both  corporations,  but 
they're  dissatisfied  with  him.  I've  already  written  to  Edsall 
in  Chicago,  and  Mansfield  at  Cincinnati,  suggesting  that  you 
are  the  man  they  need." 

"But,  Judge,"  said  the  young  lawyer,  staggered  by  his 
access  of  good  fortune,  no  less  than  by  the  fatherly  interest 
the  Judge  was  taking  in  him,  "What  will  Mr.  Clarke  say?" 

"No  matter  what  he  says.  He's  a  dude.  He's  a  dodgasted 
liar.  He's  in  debt  to  everybody  in  New  Richmond." 

The  young  lawyer  was  amused  at  the  sudden  and  unusual 
ire  of  the  Judge. 

"But  the  Culpeppers  ?  Clarke  seems  to  be  pretty  intimate 
with  them.  Will  they  not  resent  any  displacement  of  him  ?" 

"Intimate  with  the  Culpeppers?  Clarke?  Sammy,  he 
isn't  fit  to  be  their  doormat.  The  Culpeppers  are  the  salt 


CONSCIENCE  SCOURGED  129 

of  the  earth — even  that  infernal  Vergie  that  kicked  up  such 
a  rumpus  last  night.  She's  a  Venus  and  a  Pandora,  Cleopa 
tra  and  Penelope  in  one.  Don't  get  mad  at  me,  Sammy. 
What  she  said  and  did  last  night  won't  hurt  you.  It's  going 
to  help  you.  Hoped  Fred  would  take  a  notion  to  Vergie,  for 
a  year  of  married  life  and  a  baby  would  put  her  right,  and 
then — what  a  woman  she  would  be  I  But  Fred  got  to  sing 
ing  in  old  Frothingay's  choir,  and  of  course  that  finished 
him.  Never  knew  it  to  fail.  The  stage  setting  in  a  church 
is  perfect.  Dimly  lighted  room;  pictured  saints;  low,  soft 
music ;  hushed  throng ;  perfumed  and  incense-laden  air ; 
flowing,  mysterious  vestments;  flowers,  golden  vessels,  and 
emotion-appealing  discourse;  minister's  daughter  with  Ma 
donna-like  face,  folded  hands,  and  eyes  gentle — oh,  so  gentle 
and  sorrowful — uplifted  to  heaven  in  prayer — it  always 
brings  'em.  Not  saying  anything  against  Lela.  Mighty 
fine  girl !  But  somehow  we  had  our  hearts  set  on  Vergie ; 
but  Vergie — well,  she's  never  cared  for  anybody.  Rod 
Clarke  ?  Let's  not  mention  him  again. 

"Now,  Sammy,  there's  another  matter,  and  I  hardly  know 
how  or  where  to  begin.  It's  concerning  politics  and  the 
war."  The  Judge  sighed  and  looked  troubled. 

"Many  of  us  pinned  our  faith  to  Judge  Douglas ;  but  now 
that  he  is  dead  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  us.  Logan's 
a  firebrand,  Robinson's  too  young  and  inexperienced,  Mc- 
Clernand's  out  for  fame  and  glory,  while  his  successor, 
W.  J.  Allen,  is  an  accident.  The  truth  is,  we  Democrats 
haven't  a  leader  left.  Alas,  alas,  that  Douglas  should  have 
died — and  just  when  we  needed  him  most! 

"I'm  a  Virginian,  a  States'  Rights  man,  and,  I  suppose, 
a  rebel ;  but,  paramountly,  I  am  a  patriot.  As  to  slavery,  I 
hate  it,  as  Culpepper  hates  it;  but  in  equal  measure  I  hate 
divorce  and  the  saloon.  Of  the  three  evils  I  think  slavery 
is  the  least.  Our  rector  took  me  to  task  the  other  day  for 


130  AMEKICANS  ALL 

admitting  that  slavery  is  an  evil,  and  went  on  to  show  that 
while  divorce  and  drink  are  anathematized  by  the  Bible, 
slavery,  in  fact,  is  a  divine  institution ;  and  Dr.  Frothingay 
is  not  only  a  very  learned  man  but,  also,  a  very  godly  man. 

"The  so-called  'victims'  of  the  slavery  institution  are  not 
mistreated;  they're  not  clamoring  for  emancipation;  and 
yet  the  very  heavens  are  rent  with  appeals  for  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  slavery-evil.  Why  not  raise  the  slogan,  'Down 
with  the  divorce-evil;'  or  'Exterminate  the  saloon-evil ?'- 
They  have  real  victims ;  and  their  victims  do  suffer — perish 
both  soul  and  body.  We're  told  that  slavery  is  a  moral 
issue,  and  may  be  so.  But  are  not  saloon  and  divorce  also 
moral  questions? 

"Again,  Sammy :  Is  there  any  charge  that  the  slaveholder 
is  not  law-abiding?  Not  one — only  he  wants  to  extend 
slavery  over  new  territory.  But  is  the  saloon  law-abiding? 
Are  the  patrons  of  the  divorce  court  exemplars  of  purity? 
And  do  they  not  imperil  the  very  foundation  of  government  ? 
Why  not  send  an  army  to  close  the  divorce  courts,  and  to 
exterminate  the  liquor  traffic,  root  and  branch  ?  But  North 
ern  states,  Illinois  and  Massachusetts  included,  claiming 
the  inalienable  right  of  self-government,  propose  to  subju 
gate  the  Southern  states,  and  denounce  their  honorable, 
God-fearing  men  and  women  as  'insurgents/  'rebels,' 
'traitors/  Should  not  moral  cleansing,  no  less  than  charity, 
begin  at  home?  Shall  we  sally  forth  to  cast  the  mote  from 
the  eyes  of  the  Southern  people  while  our  own  vision  is 
blurred  by  the  beams  of  greater  evils  ? 

"But  pardon  me,  Sammy.  I  have  but  one  piece  of  advice 
and  it  is  this:  Keep  out  of  politics,  keep  out  of  the  muss!" 

"But,  Judge  Gildersleeve,  why  this  warning  ?  Am  I  under 
suspicion?  Have  I  done  anything  wrong?" 

"Sammy,"  and  the  Judge  was  eyeing  him  keenly,  "you 
are  under  suspicion.  You  remember  your  humorous  re- 


CONSCIENCE  SCOUEGED 

joinders  down  at  The  Maples  that  first  evening  when  Har 
old,  the  whelp,  my  future  son-in-law,  so  fiercely  catechized 
you — just  like  the  Culpeppers!"  Once  more  his  face  was 
covered  with  a  genial  smile.  "Well,  your  replies  have  been 
quoted  and  commented  on  throughout  our  New  Richmond 
Southern  Confederacy,  and  you're  decidedly  under  suspicion. 

"Then  our  friend  Armentrotit,  good  a  man  as  ever  lived 
and  the  most  oppugnacious,  every  time  your  name's  men 
tioned  wags  his  head  in  a  manner  that  seems  to  say,  'I  know 
a  thing  or  two  if  only  I  were  a-mind  to  tell  them.' 

"Finally,  there's  a  rumor  abroad  that  you're  in  com 
munication  with  Lincoln,  some  put  it  stronger  than  that, 
and  that  you've  actually  accepted  his  hospitality  at  Spring 
field. 

"Forgive  me,  Sammy,  for  gossiping  so  much ;  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  make  any  mistakes.  Now  I  must  hurry  home 
and  give  Marjorie  a  little  airing.  She's  not  well  to-day — 
pale  as  a  ghost.  All  upset  I  reckon  over  Vergie's  conduct 
last  night.  Good-bye,  Sammy.  I'll  send  my  man  around 
to-morrow  to  move  your  books,  desk,  and  household 
deities."  Then  with  an  irresistible  grimace,  humorously 
suggestive  of  Dr.  Culpepper :  "Quoth  Horace,  *'Carpe  diem 
credula  quam  minimum  postero.'  " 

The  young  lawyer  was  duly  settled  in  the  room  in  which 
Marjorie  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  had  overheard  the  con 
versation  between  himself  and  her  father;  but  there  was 
little  business.  Now  the  sole  occupation  of  the  people,  and 
theme  of  conversation,  was  war  and  politics.  Congress 
was  in  session,  transacting  business  with  unparalleled  celerity, 
in  twenty-nine  working  days  enacting  seventy-six  laws,  all 
save  four  pertaining  to  the  war.  The  air  was  rife  with 
inflammatory  oratory,  in  and  out  of  Congress,  North  and 


Enjoy  the  present,  trusting  as  little  as  possible  to  the  future. 


132  AMEEICANS  ALL 

South.  Midway  of  the  brief  session  of  Congress  the  Battle 
of  Bull  Run  was  fought  in  hearing  and  almost  in  sight  of 
Washington — and  the  Northern  troops  were  hurled  back 
into  the  Federal  Capital.  A  wave  of  dejection  had  swept 
over  the  North ;  and  a  fierce  thrill  of  exultation  had  height 
ened  the  cheer  and  confidence  of  the  South,  and  of  Southern 
sympathizers  in  the  North;  to  be  followed  by  fury  in  the 
South  and  grave  uncertainty  in  the  North  when  Congress, 
a  few  days  later,  enacted  a  law  freeing  all  negroes  employed 
in  the  service  of  the  Confederate  Army — a  law  against 
which  Mr.  Lincoln  protested,  but  dared  not  veto.  A  call  had 
gone  forth  for  three-year  men  and  McClellan,  now  in  com 
mand  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  was  busy  resolving 
heterogeneous  farmers,  merchants,  clerks,  shopkeepers,  and 
artisans,  into  homogeneous  soldiers,  and  welding  thousands 
of  independent  individualistic  atoms  into  a  vast  cohesive, 
organic  army — justifying  Meade's  remark  afterward  that 
"had  there  been  no  McClellan  there  could  have  been  no 
Grant,  for  the  army  made  no  essential  improvement  under 
any  of  his  successors."  National  patriots  in  the  North: 
Lincoln,  Baker,  Cameron,  Ramsey,  Logan ;  and  State  patriots 
in  the  South :  Davis,  Lee,  Stonewall  Jackson,  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston,  Polk,  brave  as  a  soldier  in  the  Confederate  Army 
as  he  had  been  devout  as  a  bishop  in  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church,  were  exalting  their  respective  causes,  and  exhort 
ing  their  fellow-countrymen  not  to  be  derelict  in  the  per 
formance  of  duty.  South  of  the  Ohio  and  Potomac  the 
loud  incessant  cry  was,  "On  to  Washington!"  always 
answered  in  the  North  by  an  equally  emphatic  slogan,  "On 
to  Richmond !"  Even  the  placid  quiet  of  languorous  summer 
days  in  Raleigh  County  was  broken,  faintly  at  first,  furiously 
the  following  year,  by  the  clarion  calls  of  Noss  and  Blavey 
and  their  allies. 

In  the  meantime  where  was  Felix  Palfrey?     The  day 


CONSCIENCE  SCOURGED  •    133 

after  the  Battle  of  Bull  Run  The  Cockier,  Voe  Bi jaw's  paper, 
briefly  announced  that  Monsieur  Felix  Palfrey  had  returned 
to  Paris  but  would  be  back  late  in  the  autumn.  Ordinarily 
he  could  have  gone  to  Paris  or  Timbuctoo  without  remark 
or  observation ;  but  after  the  Fourth-of-July  party  at  Judge 
Gildersleeve's  he  had  undergone  a  singular  transformation. 
After  that  event  he  was  rarely  seen  on  the  streets,  and  those 
who  met  him  observed  that  he  no  longer  indulged  in  his 
usual  airy  persiflage.  Mrs.  Barnes,  his  garrulous  landlady, 
remarked  that  "zee  leetl'  moon-key,"  mimicking  him,  "hed 
became  ez  sollum  ez  a  jedge."  An  equally  garrulous  servant 
at  The  Elms  averred  that  the  music-master  had  not  left 
Miss  Vergie's  bedside  from  the  time  she  was  stricken  till  he 
had  left  permanently,  three  weeks  later.  After  his  ostensi 
ble  departure  to  Paris  stock-buying  voyageurs  protested 
that  they  had  seen  him  at  Sardis,  Patmos,  Claudia,  Rapidan, 
Eutopolis,  Athens,  Cleopas,  and  elsewhere,  but  now  in  fash 
ionable  attire,  speaking  English  fluently,  and  always  looking 
for  good  opportunities  for  investments.  These  reports, 
however,  were  given  little  credence. 

There  was  one  report,  however,  that  was  indisputable. 
The  Reverend  Henry  Lee  Frothingay  had  been  invited  to 
officiate  at  the  dedication  of  a  church-edifice  at  Richmond 
the  second  Sabbath  in  September.  While  at  the  Confederate 
Capital  he  had  called  on  President  Davis.  It  was  a  very 
warm  day  and  President  Davis  had  invited  him  to  a  seat  on 
the  lawn.  While  engaged  in  conversation  with  his  distin 
guished  host,  who  should  pass  by  but  Felix  Palfrey,  in  com 
pany  with  Mr.  Benjamin,  then  Mr.  Davis'  Attorney-General. 
The  two  were  received  at  the  door  of  the  executive  man 
sion  by  -Mrs.  Davis.  Of  all  this  the  reverend  gentleman 
was  absolutely  sure — declared,  with  all  the  emphasis  per 
missible  to  the  cloth,  that  he  simply  could  not  have  been 
mistaken. 


134  AMERICANS  ALL 

The  day  the  Rector  returned  to  New  Richmond  the 
sportive  God  of  Chance  was  in  a  merry  mood,  and  immedi 
ately  began  to  add  to  the  gaiety  of  affairs.  The  holy  man 
of  the  church,  entirely  devoted  to  the  Southern  cause,  and 
equally  innocent  of  worldly  guile,  had,  as  his  sole  com 
panion  in  the  Enochsburg  stage,  a  certain  Amsden  Armen- 
trout,  into  whose  wide-open  and  ever-open  ears  he  poured 
the  story  of  his  visit  to  the  Confederate  Capital.  For  the 
time  he  had  forgotten,  being  absorbed  in  things  spiritual, 
that  there  are  also  things  temporal,  even  the  scourge  of 
politics  and  the  fiery  flail  of  war — nor  did  it  occur  to  him 
that  his  traveling  companion  was  a  bitter  Abolitionist,  and 
would  be  only  too  eager,  should  the  opportunity  present 
itself,  to  take  advantage  of  his  enthusiastic  loquacity. 

"An'  did  ye  see  Pris'din'  Davus,  Doctuh  Frothingay? 
S'pose  no.  Thae  saiy  'e  unly  sees  th'  maist  prom'nun'  fouk." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  shepherd  of  the  flock,  more 
than  ever  pleased  with  himself.  "I  even  had  a  long  con 
versation  with  him." 

"W'y !" — with  a  deep  intake  of  breath,  indicative  of  amaze 
ment  that  a  New-Richmonder  should  have  been  the  recipient 
of  such  a  signal  honor — "div  ye  mean  tae  saiy  thet  ye  haed 
uh  preevet  au'jence  ut  th'  Zec'tuve  Mainshun?" 

"Certainly!  The  day  was  very  warm  and  the  President 
invited  me  to  be  seated  with  him  on  a  rustic  seat  on  the 
lawn.  And,  while  we  were  conversing,  just  as  we  are  now, 
whom,  Mr.  Armentrout,  do  you  suppose  I  saw?  Guess!" 

"Naebody  Ah  uvur  seed,  Ah  raickun." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have — another  New  Richmond  man !" 

"'Deed!  Bu'  ye-'ill  hae  t*  tull  meh.  Pores'  guessuh  'n 
th'  warl'!"  The  blacksmith  now  was  all  attention,  every 
nerve  keyed  to  the  highest  tension. 

"Well,  sir,  it  was  my  organist,  Monsieur  Felix  Palfrey." 

"Noo — ye  dinna  saiy.     W'y  ye  maus  'a'  ben  dreamun', 


CONSCIENCE  SCOUEQED  135 

Doctuh,"  continued  the  wily  Scot,  "f'r  Maister  Pahlfruh's 
gane  beck  tae  Pahrse.  Ye  ken  thet  yersel'." 

"But  I  was  not  mistaken,  Mr.  Armentrout,"  a  trifle  net 
tled  by  the  doubt  cast  on  his  perspicacity  or  veracity,  or 
both.  "Do  you  not  suppose  I'd  know  my  own  organist? 
True,  he  was  not  dressed  as  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
seeing  him ;  he  was  dressed  in  a  manner  befitting  one  who  is 
the  guest  of  a  great  Ruler." 

"Wat,  Doctuh. Frothingay !  Div  ye  mean  tae  saiy  thet  yif 
org'nus  wes  thae  guest  o'  th'  Pris'dun'?  Coom  noo.  Ye 
sartinly  dinna  spec  uh  plain  man  lak  meh  tae  b'lieve  thet!" 

Angered  by  his  fellow-passenger's  unbelief  the  Rector 
retorted,  "Believe  it  or  not,  just  as  you  like.  /  was  there, 
and  Palfrey  was  there.  He  came  with  Mr.  Benjamin  and 
was  welcomed,  in  person,  by  the  First  Lady  of  the  Land.  I 
also  saw  President  Davis  smile  his  welcome  to  my  organist, 
and  could  easily  see  that  Monsieur  Palfrey,  to  both  Presi 
dent  and  Mrs.  Davis,  was  persona  gratissima." 

"Oh,  sartinly,  Doctuh.  Ah  baig  yir  pahdon,  rivirind  suh, 
Ah  baig  yir  pahdon.  O'  coose  Ah  believe  yuh." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  What  I  say  is  true  as  gospel,  and  I 
simply  could  not  have  been  mistaken." 

The  holy  man  now  was  all-complacent,  and  indulged  in 
not  a  little  facetiae.  To  the  pleasure  derived  from  the  simu 
lated  homage  of  the  canny  Scot  was  added  the  glow  of 
anticipated  adulation  when,  among  his  ardent  co-Southern 
ers  at  New  Richmond,  he  should  relate  in  detail  all  the 
events  of  his  memorable  pilgrimage  to  the  High  Priest,  and 
Holy  of  Holies,  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.  Never  was 
man  doomed  to  a  bitterer  disappointment. 

The  Enochsburg  stage  left  Enochsburg  at  9  a.  m.  and 
arrived  at  New  Richmond  at  noon ;  left  New  Richmond  at 
3  p.  m.  and  arrived  at  Enochsburg  at  5:30 — the  horses 
always  returning  in  half  an  hour's  less  time. 


136  AMEEICANS  ALL 

Before  night  all  New  Richmond  was  in  an  uproar. 

When  the  Rector  proudly  told  of  seeing  Palfrey  at  Presi 
dent  Davis'  residence  in  Richmond,  and  how  surprised  he 
had  been  to  see  him  there,  Dr.  Culpepper  immediately  said : 
"Excuse  me,  Dr.  Frothingay,  but  please  do  not  mention 
that  fact  again.  If  the  Abolitionists  were  to  get  hold  of  it, 
especially  that  canting  old  hypocrite,  Amsden  Armentrout, 
all  hell  would  turn  loose  in  this  town  in  less  than  twenty- 
four  hours.  I  now  see  our  mistake.  We  should  have  con 
fided  to  you  Palfrey's  identity  and  mission;  but  we  never 
dreamed  that  such  a  thing  would  happen.  I  fear,  Reverend 
sir,  you  have  ruined  us." 

"But,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  the  astonished  rector,  "Mr. 
Armentrout  already  knows  everything;  you  see  we  came 
over  from  Enochsburg  together  in  the  stage." 

"And  you  told  him  you  saw  Palfrey  at  Richmond,  and 
that  he  was  at  the  Executive  Mansion,  and  that  he  was 
persona  gratissima  to  President  and  Mrs.  Davis?" 

"Certainly;  all  of  which  is  God's  own  truth." 

"Yes,  damn  you,  and  you  are  the  devil's  own  fool,  with 
cap  and  bells  and  cape  and  hood  and  pointed  sandals. 
Excuse  me,  Dr.  Frothingay,  but  we  shall  have  to  have 
another  rector  at  New  Richmond.  I  would  advise  you  to 
leave  this  afternoon,"  and  with  that  the  Doctor  hastened 
to  Judge  Gildersleeve's  office. 

All  that  afternoon  "there  was  a  hurrying  to  and  fro  in 
Dixie,"  as  Hugh  Grant  humorously  expressed  it;  and  the 
trembling  communication  that  passed  from  lip  to  lip  was, 
"We  have  been  betrayed." 

But  if  there  was  "a  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  Dixie,"  the 
movement  among  the  Northern  adherents  might  aptly  be 
called  a  Hying  to  and  fro.  And  the  word  that  passed  from 
man  to  man,  and  from  woman  to  woman,  uttered  by  lips 
not  attuned  to  the  Odes  of  Horace  and  Anacreon  but  that 


CONSCIENCE  SCOUEGED  137 

had  grown  rudely  eloquent  uttering  the  high  paeans  of 
liberty  and  humanity,  was  "Treason." 

To  groups  of  men  wherever  assembled,  in  stores,  in  the 
postoffice,  on  the  street,  at  the  court  house,  Amsden  Armen- 
trout,  with  a  fierce  wrath  worthy  of  his  Scotch  ancestry,  and 
a  courage  no  man  ever  dared  question,  told  the  whole  story, 
grimly,  relentlessly,  with  a  consuming  joy.  It  was  not  a 
pretty  story.  Treason  is  never  a  pleasing  theme.  Duplic 
ity,  once  discovered,  has  no  votaries ;  nor  has  the  traitor 
ever  had  a  single  defender.  The  story  of  Benedict  Arnold 
will  never  be  set  to  music ;  the  gigantic  plottings  of  Cataline, 
though  rich  with  dramatic  suggestion,  will  never  become 
an  epic.  And  the  brief  story  was :  Jeff  Davis'  emissary 
and  spy  had  been  in  New  Richmond  for  months;  had  been 
welcomed,  aided,  and  abetted  by  all  the  Rebel  sympathizers 
in  New  Richmond,  especially  by  the  Culpeppers ;  while 
accepting  the  hospitality  of  good  Union  people,  and  break 
ing  bread  with  them,  had  been  constantly  plotting  their 
destruction ;  and  having  accomplished  his  damnable  mission 
to  the  utmost  of  his  ability,  had  gone,  not  to  Paris,  as  alleged, 
but  to  Richmond  to  report  to  his  master,  and  was  now  being- 
lionized  and  banquetted  by  the  arch-traitor,  Jeff  Davis,  said 
emissary  and  spy  being  none  other  than  Felix  Palfrey. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  throughout  the  community,  and 
change  of  sentiment,  occasioned  by  this  event,  was  thrillingly 
dramatic — but  we  must  not  anticipate. 


CHAPTER  X 

A    CLEVER    SCHEME — THE    YOUNG    LAWYER    INVITED    TO    THE 

ELMS 

AT  last  Vergie  was  convalescent.  For  weeks  her  life  had 
trembled  in  a  balance,  but,  thanks  to  the  best  of  care  and 
a  seemingly  indestructible  constitution,  she  had  won  J:he  vic 
tory  and  was  on  the  highway  to  recovery.  True,  she  was 
very  weak  and  pale,  a  pallor  emphasized  by  her  milk-white 
teeth  and  jet-black  hair  and  eyes — but  now  she  was  able  to 
sit  up  a  part  of  each  day;  and  though  able  to  partake  of 
only  the  lightest  food,  and  of  that  sparingly,  her  sleep  was 
normal,  her  nerves  were  restored  to  health,  and  her  mind 
had  become  entirely  rational.  In  a  week,  if  the  weather 
continued  fine,  she  was  to  go  driving  with  her  father.  Of 
the  cause  of  her  illness,  or  what  had  occurred  at  Judge 
Gildersleeve's,  nothing  had  been  said — nor  had  she  been 
informed  of  current  events.  Dr.  Boynton  had  ordered  quiet 
and  the  avoidance  of  all  unnecessary  conversation,  espe 
cially  on  subjects  that  might  disquiet  her ;  and  she  had  made 
it  easy  to  carry  out  his  orders  to  the  very  letter  by  her 
unwonted  meekness,  docility,  and  abstinence  from  inquiry. 
The  day  of  the  Rector's  return  from  his  ill-starred  visit  to 
Richmond  Mrs.  Culpepper  said  to  her  husband — they  were 
at  their  noonday  dinner :  "How  is  our  little  girlie,  Fairfax  ? 
You're  so  close-mouthed  I  never  can  find  out  anything  from 
you." 

t  "Sound  as  a  dollar,  my  dear,  only  weak.    I'm  vastly  more 
concerned  for  your  health." 

138 


A  CLEVER  SCHEME  139 

"Oh,  never  mind  me,  Fairfax — but  Vergie,  my  poor  dar 
ling!"  Tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"But,  really,  Father,"  said  Harold,  "you're  keeping  noth 
ing  back,  are  you?  You  doctors  are  so  blamed  secretive 
and  mysterious  you  always  give  me  the  creeps.  Is  Vergie 
all  right?  Will  she  soon  be  up  and  about?  And  her 
mind ?" 

"Harold,  you  scoundrel,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  talk?" 
the  Doctor  exploded.  "Vergie,  I  tell  you,  is  as  sound  as  a 
pine-knot ;  never  before  was  in  as  good  health  as  at  the  pres 
ent  moment,  only  weak  of  course ;  and  as  for  her  mind — I 
only  wish  you  had  half  as  much  sense  as  your  sister  has. 
Now  get  out  of  here  before  I  get  up  and  give  you  a  caning." 

"Good  old  Pater!"  laughed  Harold,  as  he  mockingly 
bowed  himself  out  of  the  room  and  ascended  to  his  sister's 
chamber  to  keep  her  company  while  she  ate  her  frugal 
dinner  of  weak  tea,  buttered  toast,  asparagus  tips,  and  a 
very  small  bit  of  broiled  white  fish. 

"  'Pon  my  word,  Vergie,  you're  looking  fine,"  he  ex 
claimed,  as  he  marked  a  slight  glow  of  color  in  her  face. 

"Good  as  new,  Harold,  only  frightfully  weak,"  she  re 
sponded,  as  she  wearily  turned  her  head  so  she  could  see  out 
of  the  window. 

Very  early  the  following  morning  Dr.  Culpepper  drove 
away,  taking  Mrs.  Culpepper  with  him — "for  a  bit  of  this 
fine  October  air,"  she  had  said. 

Harold  went  to  the  post  office  but  very  shortly  returned, 
going  immediately  to  Vergie's  room.  To  his  surprise  he 
found  her  up,  dressed  in  a  loose  lounging  robe,  and  sitting 
in  an  invalid-chair  by  the  window.  Evidently  she  was  very 
much  better. 

"And  how  is  your  Ladyship  this  morning"  making  a 
courtly  bow. 

"Very,  very  much  better  and  stronger,  me  Lud,"  she  gaily 


140  AMERICANS  ALL 

replied,  "but  you  ?  I  fear  you're  not  so  well — you  look  any 
thing  but  fit.  Trouble  ?  Loss  of  sleep  ?  How  fares  it  with 
thee  and  the  fair  Marjorie?" 

"See  here,  Vergie,"  breaking  off  abruptly,  "I'm  deucedly 
glad  you're  better;  for  it's  time  you  and  I  were  holding  a 
council  of  war.  Fact  is,  I'm  about  crazy,"  putting  his  arm 
about  her  and  drawing  her  close  to  him. 

"So  bad  as  that?  Has  la  dolce  Marjorieta  been  abusing 
my  big  brother?" 

"Not  that,  Vergie,"  now  more  seriously.  "There  is  some 
thing  wrong  with  Marjorie,  though  what  it  is  I  can't  find 
out ;  but  I'm  not  speaking  of  that." 

"What  is  it,  then?    Why,  Harold,  you  alarm  me." 

"Don't  get  excited,  Sister,  but  hell's  to  pay." 

"'Hell?'  What  would  Dr.  Frothingay  say  if  he  were  to 
hear  you  use  such  a  naughty  word?" 

"Damn  Dr.  Poppinjay — I  mean,  Frothingay!" 

"Why,  Harold,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Vergie,"  pausing  and  looking  at  her  long  and  seareh- 
ingly,  as  though  appraising  her  condition,  "can  you  bear  to 
hear  something  that — well,  isn't  at  all  agreeable?" 

"Why,  certainly — you  forget  that  I'm  a  Culpepper." 

Harold  made  a  wry  face  but  continued,  "And  you'll  not 
allow  yourself  to  become  the  least  bit  excited?" 

"Please,  Harold,  go  on.  Can't  you  trust  me,  your  own 
sister?  But  I  shall  become  nervous  if  you  keep  me  in  sus 
pense  much  longer." 

"All  right,  sister  mine.  Of  course  I  trust  you.  You 
always  were  game,  the  gamest  little  girl  in  the  world.  Now 
lay  back  in  that  easy  chair.  Let  me  fix  your  head — a  trifle 
lower — there." 

"Harold,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Extract  a  tooth?" 
Her  laughter  was  good  to  hear. 

Satisfied  that  she  was  comfortable,  and  in  a  position  that 


would  be  restful,  he  told  her  the  state  of  affairs,  keeping 
nothing  back:  what  Congress  had  done,  the  laws  enacted 
respecting  the  war,  the  Battle  of  Bull  Run,  the  call  for  a 
great  army  of  three-year  men  and  the  prompt  and  enthusi 
astic  response  of  the  North,  the  unexpected  firmness  and 
sagacity  of  Lincoln,  the  increasing  loyalty  of  the  non- 
slaveholding  states  and  the  tide  of  wrath  everywhere  rising 
against  Southern  sympathizers,  McClellan's  wonderful  work 
organizing  and  training  a  mighty  army,  and  the  general 
situation  in  the  South. 

At  last  he  paused.  "How  are  you  standing  it,  Vergie? 
Wouldn't  this  better  be  'continued  in  our  next  ?' " 

"Oh,  no.  Please  go  on.  It's  like  a  great  drama.  I'm 

not  at  all  tired  or  nervous.  And ?"  Her  head  was  tilted 

sidewise  like  a  bird. 

"Vergie,  you're  the  greatest  ever,"  again  clasping  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissing  her. 

"Oh!    You  horrid  bear !    And ?" 

Briefly  as  possible  he  related  the  incidents  of  the  Frothin- 
gay  episode. 

"Oh,  the  preachers,"  she  exclaimed.  "What  a  galaxy  of 
angels  and — pack  of  fools.  Ready  to  die  for  you,  to  be 
worms,  broken  vessels,  accursed  of  men,  yet — vain  as  pea 
cocks.  Beautifully  humble,  boundlessly  charitable,  utterly 
self-forgetting  in  ninety-nine  things  but — touch  their  vanity, 
creed,  or  church,  and  they  become  fiends.  Frothingay! 
Such  a  dear  old  man  and — simpleton !" 

"Whew,  Vergie,  something's  wrong  with  your  liver.  But 
seriously,  do  you  realize  what  this  revelation  of  our  com 
plicity  in  this  Palfrey  affair  means  to — to  us?  Where  we 
stand — now? 

"No,  Harold,  tell  me." 

"Vergie,  darling,  we're  disgraced." 

"In  everybody's  sight?"     There  was  only  the  slightest 


142  AMEBICANS  ALL 

tremor  in  her  voice.  "How  about  the  friends  of — yesterday  ?" 

"Ashamed  of  us  or — afraid." 

"So  bad  as  that?" 

"Worse,  Vergie — but  let's  defer  this  matter  awhile.  I'm 
wearing  you  out." 

"No,  you're  not.  I  must  hear  it  all  now.  What  could 
be  worse  than  to  be  shunned  and  despised  by  one's  sup 
posed  friends?" 

"You  forget  our  enemies." 

"But  have  we  no  friends  at  all?" 

"None  that  we  can  count  on,  or  that  could  help  us,  though 
ever  so  willing.  You  see,  Sister,  we've  overestimated  our 
strength." 

"But  I  thought  almost  everybody  was  on  our  side." 

"Sentimentally,  theoretically,  philosophically,  yes;  practi 
cally,  positively,  aggressively,  no.  Not  many  these  days  are 
going  to  crucifixion  for  Church  or  State,  for  God  or 
Country." 

"And  our  'friends'  are — all  turncoats?" 

"No,  Vergie,  only  prudent;  and  I  don't  blame  them.  Cui 
bono,  dearie?  Gildersleeve  would  lose  his  judgeship  were 
he  to  put  his  imprimatur  on  us  and  our  doctrines,  Pinckney 
the  headship  of  the  schools,  Gordon  the  post  office.  Oh, 
there'd  be  plenty  doing  all  right,  all  right,  and  we  wouldn't 
be  helped  in  the  least." 

"Oh,  the  cruel,  unfeeling  North— I  hate  it !" 

"No  worse  than  the  South,  Vergie.  I  see  where  a  whole 
Union  family  was  wiped  out  the  other  day  in  East  Tennes 
see.  They  were  given  one  minute's  grace.  'Shout  for  Jeff 
Davis  or  die!'  They  shouted  for  Abe  Lincoln  and — the 
census  of  the  next  world  was  increased  by  four.  You  see 
the  poor  unfortunates  were  so  foolish  as  to  be  brave  and 
remain  in  the  enemy's  country,  just  as — some  other  folks 
are  doing  up  North." 


A  CLEVEE  SCHEME  143 

"But,  Harold — you  know  I'm  not  the  least  mite  afraid — • 
are  we  really  in  danger  ?" 

"Why  not,  aren't  we  in  the  enemy's  country?" 

"Imminent?" 

"Not  you,  Sweetheart,  or  Mother." 

"But  you  and  Papa?" 

"Father? — yes.  Mother's  gone  with  Father  now  to  see 
his  patients.  She  was  afraid  he'd  be  killed  if  he  went  alone. 
You  see  a  mob  started  here  last  night  to  kill  Father.  Might 
have  succeeded  if  they  hadn't  been  stopped." 

"Stopped  ?  Who  stopped  them  ?  Who  was  brave  enough 
to— to?" 

"Amsden  Armentrout." 

"The  old  traitor.  How  I  wish  Uncle  Jeff  could  get  hold 
of  him!" 

"Dearie,  Uncle  Jeff  wouldn't  hurt  him.  Uncle  Jeff  thinks 
Armentrout  and  the  like  are  all  right — up  North." 

"Why — how's  that  ?"    She  was  becoming  confused. 

"Oh,  what's  treason  up  North  is  patriotism  down  South, 
and  vice  versa.  It  all  depends  on  the  locality  you're  in. 
They'd  make  short  shrift  of  old  Amsden  if  he  were  down 
South  and  talked  and  carried  on  the  way  he  does  here, 
just  as " 

"Oh,  Harold "  She  had  just  caught  the  meaning. 

The  logic  of  the  situation — rationale — for  the  first  time  was 
dawning  on  her.  Her  angle  of  vision  was  shifting — she 
was  beginning  to  see  the  position  of  her  father  and  brother 
from  the  Abolition  view  point.  She  now  recalled  that  her 
Uncle  Jeff  had  declared  he  had  no  thought  of  invading  the 
North,  that  he  would  repel  only  invasion;  that  the  North 
had  a  perfect  right  to  its  institutions  and  way  of  thinking, 
just  as  the  South  had  a  perfect  right  to  its  institutions  and 
way  of  thinking.  As  one  emerging  from  a  long  and  troubled 
dream  she  slowly  came  to  realize  that,  even  according  to 


144  AMEEICANS  ALL 

her  Uncle  Jeff's  political  philosophy,  Armentrout,  in  his  way, 
was  a  Patriot.  She  adored  Bobby  Toombs,  and  Armen 
trout  was  a  sort  of  Northern  Bobby  Toombs.  Hate  the 
Abolitionists  as  she  would — as  the  Cavalier  must  ever 
despise  the  Roundhead — she  must  nevertheless  acknowledge 
the  justness  of  their  attitude  toward  Southern  sympathizers 

who  lived  and  labored  in  the  North.  But  murder 

By  one  of  those  strange  shiftings  of  the  mental  kaleidoscope, 
which  everyone  has  experienced  but  no  one  can  explain, 
she  suddenly  saw  the  white  faces  of  her  father  and  brother 
— dead! 

"Oh !  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  ?"  She  had  forgotten  her 
brother's  presence,  her  outcry  being  occasioned  by  her  mental 
vision. 

"Yes,  Sister,  you're  our  only  hope." 

"Is  it  so  desperate  as  that  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  I'm  helpless." 

"Through  Simonson,  Vergie." 

"Simonson?  I  don't  remember  him."  She  was  absorbed 
for  a  moment,  then  a  wave  of  crimson  swept  over  her. 

"Yes,  Harold,  I  remember  him,"  very  gently.  "How 
through  Simonson?"  Harold  had  expected  a  different 
response. 

"It's  this  way,  Sister.  Though  Simonson's  a  cracker,  and 
a  Missouri  cracker  at  that,  he's  every  inch  a  man,  and  a 
gentleman,  too.  It  goes  against  the  grain  to  confess  it,  but 
it's  the  God's  truth.  I  know  I  acted  the  cad  the  first  time 
I  met  him  down  at  Marjorie's,  made  of  myself  a  24-karat 
donkey — but,  well,  you  know  how  we  were  brought  up. 

"Then  he's  scholarly — no,  don't  stop  me.  This  all  bears 
on  what  I've  got  to  say.  The  Judge  declares  that  Simon- 
son's  forgotten  more  law,  history,  philosophy,  and  general 
literature  than  any  other  ten  New  Richmond  lawyers  ever 
knew — though  I  don't  think  the  chap's  ever  forgotten  any 
thing.  Greek  and  Latin?  Why,  if  our  Quoth  Horace  and 


A  CLEVER  SCHEME  145 

Simonson  could  hit  it  off  socially  and  politically  what  a 
time  they'd  have  spouting  classical  tommyrot.  Europe? 
Oh,  yes,  he's  up  on  Europe.  Saw  all  of  it.  Was  there  a 
whole  year?  Yes,  I  know  he  was  peddling  handbills,  or 
carrying  water  to  the  elephant,  or  acting  as  chambermaid 
to  the  Holy  Ichthyosaurus,  or  Sacred  Dinotherium — anyway 
a  blasted  plebeian — nevertheless,  Vergie,  he  got  there. 

"Then  he  has  gumption,  a  thing  of  which  I  fear  we  Cul- 
peppers  are  sadly  deficient.  He's  brave  without  getting  hot 
— never  loses  his  temper,  or  gets  rattled.  Fight?  Well,  I 
reckon — but  he'll  never  have  to.  Look  at  those  legs  of  his, 
those  arms  and  hands,  that  torso,  those  shoulders,  that  head 
— nobody'll  ever  want  to  tackle  that  aggregation  of  six  feet 
two  of  brain,  brawn,  and  red  blood.  Why,  Vergie,  he 
could  take  you  up  in  his  arms  and  crush  you  in  an  instant." 

Vergie  breathed  short,  spasmodically,  and  the  color  deep 
ened  in  her  face  and  eyes. 

"Yes,  Simonson  has  a  way  of  getting  along  with  people — 
somehow  folks  take  to  him,  and  like  him,  and  believe  in  him. 
Doesn't  seem  to  try  to  please  anybody,  blamed  independent 
sort  of  a  rooster ;  yet  everybody  swears  by  him.  Whatever 
he  says  goes,  and  yet  he  blew  in  here  only  eight  months  ago. 

"Another  strange  thing — he  seems  to  be  acquainted  with 
Lincoln,  and  to  have  some  sort  of  a  pull.  Just  leaked  out. 
Don't  know  that  I've  got  it  straight.  Seems  that  some 
Boston  people  wrote  to  Lincoln  about  Simonson,  and  Lin 
coln  invited  him  to  visit  him  at  Springfield — what  do  you 
think  of  that?  Not  much  like  old  Frothingay — never 
cheeped !  Lincoln  told  somebody  and  in  that  way  the  word's 
got  back  here.  Anyway  Lincoln's  passed  the  word  down 
along  the  line  that  what  Simonson  says  goes  in  this  com 
munity — see?  Gordon  of  course  has  to  keep  mum — 'fraid 
he'll  lose  the  post  office— but  that  Miss  Tittle-Tattle  Gibble- 
Gabble  that  stands  at  the  general  delivery  window  'chawin' 


146  AMEBICANS  ALL 

gum  and  representing  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  has  told,  oh, 
so  confidentially,  that  that  upstart  young  lawyer  gets  letters 
right  along  from  Abe  Lincoln — and  that  one  came  only 
yesterday." 

"A  very  good  sermon, reverend  sir,  very  good!"  said  the 
beautiful  girl.  "But  what's  the  'finally  and  in  conclusion, 
brethren,'  the — er — point  ?" 

"You  must  make  Simonson  fall  in  love  with  you,  because 
he's  the  only  man  that  can  save  us." 

Vergie  sat  motionless  as  a  statue.  No  sound  escaped  her 
lips.  She  seemed  to  be  staring  with  unseeing  eyes.  For 
aught  of  sound  or  motion  one  would  have  declared  her  dead. 
At  mention  of  "love"  she  had  suddenly  straightened  up  in 
the  invalid-chair,  remaining  statuesque  as  a  soldier  standing 
"attention."  At  last  Harold  was  alarmed.  The  proposal 
could  not  be  other  than  shocking,  or  revolting,  or  both — and 
she  was  only  convalescent.  He  therefore  spoke  in  a  low 
tone — 

"Vergie." 

"Yes?" 

"Do  you  hate  Simonson  ?" 

"No,  not — now." 

"Then  you  will ?" 

"You  ask  me  to  betray  a  good  man,  to  wreck  his  life, 

"Oh,  not  so  bad  as  that,  Vergie.  Don't  look  at  me  so! 
I  put  it  strongly  to  arrest  your  attention ;  to  bring  home  your 
truant  thoughts;  to  focus  your  mind.  You  needn't  go  so 
far  as  that — win  his  special  regard ;  weave  about  him  the 
charm,  the  lure,  of  you  personality;  make  it  a  delight  for 
him  to  come  to  The  Elms ;  in  other  words,  provide  for  us  a 
powerful  friend  at  Court." 

"Harold,  brother  dear,  you  ask  of  me  the  impossible." 


A  CLEVER  SCHEME  147 

"Pardon  me,  Vergie;  is  it  because  you  are  still  in  love 
with  Palfrey?" 

"No." 

"But  you  did  love  him  ?" 

"Maybe  so — I  don't  know." 
,     "When  did  the — the  feeling  cease?" 

"At  Judge  Gildersleeve's  that— that  terrible  night."  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  referred  to  what  those  present 
had  come  to  call,  "The  Fourth-of- July-night  Tragedy." 

"Why?"     The  question  was  purposely  ambiguous. 

"He — he — Palfrey  wasn't  sufficient — Harold ;  don't  ask  me, 
dear.  There  are  some  questions  a  girl  can't  answer." 

She  stirred  slightly.  There  was  a  momentary  twitching 
of  her  fingers;  and  the  glow  in  her  eyes  was  suddenly 
intensified. 

Presently,  "Then  when  the  climax  came,  and  Palfrey 
laughingly  exulted  in  the  success  of  his  deception  of  every 
body,  except  a  few  of  us;  proud  of  his  hoodwinking  and 
successful  double-dealing,  entirely  apart  from  the  end  in 
view,  as  a  master-pianist  is  of  his  virtuosity,  my  indifference 
changed  to  loathing.  The  man  that  wins  and  holds  my  love 
must  be  straightforward.  Then  there  was  not  enough  of 
him ;  he  was  not  sufficiently  .  .  .  vital.  Before  he  left  I 
told  him  never  to  return ;  and  not  to  write  to  me." 

"But  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  letters  downstairs  from 
him — they're  all  addressed  to  you.  They've  not  been 
opened." 

"Then  don't  open  them.    Throw  them  in  the  fire." 

"But  some  of  them  are  bulky.  I'm  sure  they  contain 
presents.  Some  of  them  may  be  valuable." 

"No  matter.  I  don't  desire  them.  Please  throw  them  in 
the  fire." 

"And  Simonson ?" 

"No  use  to  mention  him,  Harold.    You  know  he  hates  me. 


148  AMEEICANS  ALL 

He  ought 'to  hate  me.  In  fact  I  honor  him  for  hating  me. 
It's  the  only  'redress'  a  gentleman  has  when  a  woman  for 
gets  decency,  and  forfeits  the  title  of  'lady' — as  I  did.  Were 
I  a  man  he  could  challenge  me  to  mortal  combat  and,  very 
properly,  kill  me;  being,  unfortunately,  a  woman,  he  can 
slay  me,  as  far  as  possible,  only  with  the  tense  gleam  of  the 
basilisk's  eye — the  eye  of  hatred." 

"But,  Vergie " 

"Please,  let's  drop  the  matter." 

"But  listen  a  moment." 

"Very  well,  Sir  Irrepressible,  proceed,"  leaning  back  once 
more  in  her  invalid-chair  with  a  mock-heroic  air  of  resig 
nation.  "Patience  on  a  pedestal  joyfully  waits  your  further 
phantasmagoric  ah — er,  vagaries." 

Harold  laughed.  It  did  him  good  to  hear  his  sister  jest 
once  more.  It  was  indicative  of  the  return  of  her  former 
health  and  vivacity. 

"You  say  that  the  young  lawyer  hates  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  that  you  have  sinned  against  him  most  grievously  ?" 

"Yes,  holy  father;  but  I  warn  you  now  that  this  is  only 
one  of  the  many  sins  which  I  from  time  to  time  most  griev 
ously  have  committed,"  at  the  same  time  hurling  a  daintily 
woven  lavender  slipper  at  his  head.  She  was  actually 
laughing. 

"Very  well,  daughter,"  wittily  adopting  her  form  of  speech. 
"Your  perversity  deeply  grieves  me;  but  your  ardent  and 
unaffected  penitence  fills  me  with  hope.  And  this  is  the 
penance  you  must  do ;  and  this  the  consolation  I  am  able  to 
offer. 

"By  your  transgression,  your  cruel  and  malignant  act" — 
Vergie  winced,  but  Harold  went  on  unheeding,  apparently 
not  observing — "you  have  won  the  privilege  of  despatching 
by  the  hand  of  your  devout  and  ever-faithful  brother,  whom 


A  CLEVER  SCHEME  149 

may  all  the  saints  ever  bless,  a  daintily  written  note  to  the 
party  against  whom  you  have  so  flagitiously  acted,  beseech 
ing  him  to  grant  you  an  interview ;  and  since  you  are  on  a 
bed  of  affliction,  entreating  him  to  vouchsafe  to  you  the 
grace  of  a  personal  call  at  his  earliest  convenience — but  for 
this  opprobrious  act  of  your's,  most  justly  causing  him  to 
regard  you  as  his  enemy,  this  frowardness  on  your  part 
would  be  highly  improper,  and  wholly  unpermissible.  Then 
— and  this  is  your  consolation — by  those  wiles  of  your  sex, 
wiles  of  which  you  are  mistress,  fairest  of  all  the  Daughters 
of  Eve;  and  the  exquisite  winsomeness  of  your  person, 
which  no  man  has  ever  been,  or  ever  will  be  able  to  resist ; 
enhanced  by  all  those  witcheries  and  alluring  mysteries  of 
dress  and  coiffure  and  perfume  which  ever  make  you  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes  in  whatever  throng  you  may  favor  with 
your  presence;  charms  and  fascinations  rendered  yet  more 
potent  and  appealing  by  the  air  and  mien — m-i-e-n,  please — 
of  the  utterly-crushed  and  heart-broken  penitent — all  in  a 
low  and  tearful  voice,  pitched  midway  between  despair  and 
the  tiniest  bit  of  hope ;  with  soft  incidental  music,  carefully 
provided  in  advance,  in  the  distance ;  you  shall  win  the  desire 
of  your  heart,  namely,  your  brother's  immunity  from  dire 
peril,  and,  mayhap,  your  venerable  and  dearly-beloved  sire 
from  sudden  and  cruel  death.  Arise,  daughter,  and  go  in 
peace." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Harold  Culpepper  called  at  the 
office  of  Judge  Gildersleeve,  which  was  also  the  office  of 
Samuel  Simonson. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  call,  Mr.  Culpepper,"  the  young 
lawyer  began  at  once.  "I  was  just  debating  which  I  would 
better  do,  call  in  person  at  The  Elms,  or  write." 

"I  shall  be  sorry,  Mr.  Simonson,  if  my  call  should  deprive 
us  of  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  The  Elms."  Harold's 
voice  and  manner  plainly  indicated  that  he  was  in  earnest. 


150  AMERICANS  ALL 

It  could  not  be  said  their  relations  were  in  any  way 
chummy  or  confidential.  However,  since  the  event  at  The 
Maples,  the  night  of  the  Fourth,  there  had  been  some  meas 
ure  of  cordiality.  Previous  to  that  time  Marjorie's  shadow 
had  always  hovered  between  them ;  but  after  that  night  Mar- 
jorie  had  taken  herself  out  of  the  young  lawyer's  life.  Why 
she  had  done  so  none,  save  herself,  could  have  told,  and  this 
she  had  not  seen  fit  to  do.  For  several  days  she  had  re 
mained  in  strict  seclusion,  except  when  driving  with  her 
father.  It  was  given  out  that  she  was  ill,  a  statement  verified 
by  her  extreme  pallor  and  a  look  of  profound  melancholy. 
This  was  easily  accounted  for  by  the  shock  occasioned  by 
Vergie's  outbreak,  followed  by  Vergie's  long  illness.  It  was 
also  observed  that  Harold  was  greatly  depressed.  Some 
thought  that  Vergie's  conduct  had  caused  a  dissolution  of 
their  troth;  others  that  his  dejection  was  occasioned  solely 
by  Marjorie's  illness.  All  uncertainty,  however,  came  to 
an  end  with  the  announcement  of  their  engagement,  date  of 
wedding  not  given,  after  which  Marjorie  had  gone  for  a 
long  visit  with  an  aunt  in  Cincinnati.  Of  a  certain  event  at 
the  door  of  The  Maples,  and  repeated  at  the  gate,  none,  save 
the  two  interested  parties,  knew. 

The  real  facts  in  the  case  were  these:  The  young  lady 
in  question  and  a  certain  young  lawyer  were  horrified  by 
what  had  "happened,"  and — glad  of  it.  Tt  was  terrible  to 
remember,  yet — they  would  cherish  the  memory  of  it  for 
ever.  They  wouldn't  have  done  it  for  anything  in  the  world, 
nor — would  they  have  missed  doing  it  for  anything  in  the 
world.  They  were  at  once  unspeakably  miserable  and  unut 
terably  happy. 

But  with  one  accord  they  had  come  to  the  same  conclu 
sion:  "It"  could  never  be;  and  the  sooner  they  lived  it 
down,  though  they  could  never  forget,  the  better  it  would 
be  for  both.  With  this  resolution  firmly  made,  each  making 


A  CLEVER  SCHEME  151 

it  without  the  other's  knowledge,  Marjorie,  the  certain 
young  lady  before  mentioned,  resolutely  set  about  living 
up  to  her  engagement  vows  to  Harold  Culpepper;  and  the 
young  lawyer,  with  equal  sternness  of  purpose,  turned" with 
increased  devotion  to  his  great  profession.  Under  these 
conditions  it  can  easily  be  seen  how  the  way  was  opened 
for  Mr.  Samuel  Simonson  and  Mr.  Harold  Culpepper  to 
become  cordial,  and  finally  intimate,  friends. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Culpepper,  and  I  thank  you  for 
your  courtesy.  As  you  know,"  the  young  lawyer  continuing, 
"I'm  something  of  a  stranger  in  New  Richmond,  and  thus 
far  have  succeeded  in  keeping  clear  of  the  several  parties  and 
factions  that  are  more  or  less  antagonistic  to  one  another." 

"You  have  been  exceedingly  discreet,  Mr.  Simonson,  and 
I  congratulate  you  on  your  extraordinary  success.  Not  one 
man  in  ten  thousand  could  have  done  what  you  have  done: 
without  fear  or  favor  maintained  your  integrity,  and  at  the 
same  time  equally  retained  the  esteem  and  confidence  of  all 
citizens,  even  the  most  bitter  and  belligerent.  You  must 
know,  Mr.  Simonson,  how  we  have  failed ;  for  though  we've 
been  thoroughly  honest  and  well-meaning  in  all  that  we've 
said  and  done,  I  understand  many  of  our  neighbors  are 
almost,  if  not  quite,  thirsting  for  our  blood." 

Harold  laughed,  though  not  without  a  note  of  anxiety 
in  his  voice.  The  young  lawyer  looked  up  and  smiled,  but 
there  was  no  glint  of  humor  in  his  face. 

"It  was  regarding  that  matter  I  was  coming  to  see  you,  or 
—write." 

Harold  now  was  very  sober.  He  was  not  a  coward,  yet 
he  shrank  from  a  hostile  demonstration.  "Do  you  think 
there's  real  danger,  Mr.  Simonson?" 

"Not  immediately,  though  Judge  Gildersleeve  fears  trou 
ble—  tonight." 

"My  God,  not  tonight,  Simonson !    With  my  mother  sick, 


152  AMERICANS  ALL 

and  Vergie  just  convalescing?  No,  it  cannot  be.  Have  the 
Abolitionists  become  so  insanely  furious  and  bloodthirsty, 
and  so  forgetful  of  all  chivalrous  amenities,  as  to  make  war 
on  sick  and  helpless  women?" 

"Do  not  distress  yourself,  Mr.  Culpepper.  As  I  said  be 
fore,  I  think  you  need  not  anticipate  trouble  tonight;  but 
unless  you  are  very  discreet  I  fear  there'll  be  trouble,  per 
haps  serious  trouble,  in  the  near  future.  But  for  Mr.  Ar- 
mentrout,  who's  a  stranger  to  fear,  there  would  have  been  a 
— a  serious  infraction  of  the  law  last  night." 

"But  there  isn't  trouble  brewing  for  us  tonight,  is  there? 
Speak  out  plainly,  man.  As  your  Mr.  Phillips  says,  'Don't 
shilly-shally.' " 

There  was  just  a  perceptible  warning  flash  in  the  young 
lawyer's  eyes  as  he  quietly  replied,  "Excuse  me,  Mr.  Cul 
pepper.  Though  Mr.  Phillips  is  a  most  excellent  and  accom 
plished  gentleman  he  is  not  my  man,  nor  am  I  his.  As  for 
shilly-shallying,  I  was  never  accused  of  that  before.  How 
ever,  I've  had  my  say.  That's  all." 

"A  thousand  pardons,  Mr.  Simonson.  Believe  me,  I 
meant  no  offense.  We  Southerners  are,  I  fear,  somewhat 
dictatorial  and  overbearing,  especially  when  we're  excited. 
I'm  deeply  concerned  for  my  precious  mother  and  sister,  and 
my  anxiety  led  me  to  speak  with  unseemly  haste." 

"It's  all  right,  Mr.  Culpepper — no  offense  is  taken.  I 
had  said,  however,  all  I  had  to  say.  Indeed  I  should  beg 
your  pardon  for  what  I  have  said  since  it  is  no  affair  of 
mine ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fair  play,  I  didn't  want  you  to  be 
taken  unaware.  It's  but  proper  that  I  should  also  add,  in 
this  connection,  that  I  was  prompted  to  communicate  with 
you  mainly  out  of  my  regard  for  the  ladies  at  The  Elms — 
for  I  well  know  that  you  and  your  father  are  easily  able  to 
take  care  of  yourselves."  The  lawyer  now  was  smiling,  a 
smile  most  people  found  hard  to  resist. 


A  CLEVEE  SCHEME  153 

Rising  to  leave  Harold  took  from  his  pocket  a  note  and 
laid  it  before  the  young  lawyer,  simply  saying,  "This  is  from 
my  sister,  Vergie.  If  I  am  not  mistaken  she  desires  me  to  be 
the  bearer  of  your  answer." 

The  chirography  was  dainty,  but  very  distinct. 

"Samuel  Simonson,  Esquire: — I  very  much  desire  to  see 
you  soon,  if  possible  this  evening.  I  have  no  claim  on  your 
time  or  consideration,  quite  the  reverse;  and  but  for  my 
weakness,  incident  to  my  long  and  severe  illness,  I  would 
crave  the  boon  of  an  interview  at  your  office.  May  I  hope 
for  a  kindly  answer?  A  verbal  reply  will  be  sufficient. 
Sincerely, 

VIRGINIA  LEE  CULPEPPER." 

Having  read  it  through  the  second  time  the  young  lawyer 
quietly  said,  "This  note,  as  you  have  said,  is  from  your 
sister.  I  think  I  understand  her  generous  motive  in  writing 
to  me.  It  is  an  invitation  to  call  on  her  this  evening  at  The 
Elms.  Would  you  not  better  bear  to  her  my  assurances  of 
highest  esteem,  and  a  date  for  my  call  some  weeks  later,  or 
days  at  least,  when  she  will  have  completely  recovered  her 
health?" 

"Really,  Mr.  Simonson,  if  you  can  come  this  evening  I 
wish  you  would — that  is,  if  you're  not  averse  to  accepting 
the  invitation.  I  chance  to  know  that  she  worries  greatly 
concerning  a  certain  matter,  and  I'm  sure  that  if  you  could 
grant  her  the  favor  she  asks  it  would  not  only  afford  her 
great  pleasure,  but,  by  putting  her  mind  and  heart  at  rest, 
hasten  her  recovery." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  generous  words.  Please,  therefore, 
present  my  compliments  to  Miss  Culpepper,  and  say  to  her 
that  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  on  her  at  eight- 
thirty  this  evening." 


CHAPTER  XI 

QUOTH    POLLY,    "l    WANT   A    CRACKER";    QUOTH    VERGIE,    "SO 

DO  I" 

TT7HATEVER  Vergie  desired  she  desired  greatly,  and 
VV  whatever  she  attempted  she  usually  accomplished. 
Mentally,  morally  and  physically  she  was  virile;  and  with 
all  the  imperiousness  of  her  nature  she,  too  young  yet  to 
philosophize  or  psychologize,  craved,  yearned  for,  demanded 
in  the  man  of  her  choice  an  equal  endowment  of  virility; 
and  this  was  the  one  and  only  respect  in  which  Felix  Palfrey 
had  been  lacking. 

Happily,  her  moral  nature  was  equally  disciplined  and 
regnant.  Southern  girls  are  more  carefully  instructed  re 
garding  the  great  sanctities  of  life  than  their  Northern  sis 
ters,  and  are  more  constantly  and  solemnly  exhorted  and 
required  to  maintain  the  highest  ideal  of  vestal  purity,  such 
as  the  young  husband  has  the  right  to  expect  and  demand 
of  the  bride.  To  embrace  the  unbetrothed,  even  though  the 
offender  be  an  accepted  suitor,  is,  in  the  South,  a  grave  of 
fense,  akin  to  the  crime  that  is  punishable  by  death,  at  the 
hand  of  the  nearest  relative;  and  it  is  the  proud  boast  of 
many  Southern  wives  and  husbands  that  they  knew  naught 
of  twining  arms  and  clinging  kisses  till  God  himself  had  hal 
lowed  their  union  at  the  marriage  altar.  In  Memphis  a 
Northerner,  sitting  in  a  parlor,  said  to  a  young  lady,  "Ah, 
what  a  shapely  foot  you  have !"  The  young  lady  broke  out 
crying,  and  her  brother  sped  a  bullet  through  the  offender's 
heart. 

154 


QUOTH  POLLY 

Thus  Vergie's  moral  quality  and  training  were  of  the 
highest  type.  Not  that  she  was  ignorant  of  the  devious 
ways  of  sin.  Ignorance  may  or  may  not  be  the  mother  of 
devotion,  but  ignorance  is  never  an  element  of  strength. 
With  her  mother  she  had  read  French  novels  in  the  original, 
and  loathed  their  putridity.  With  her  father  she  had  read 
the  Latin  Classics,  and  been  amazed  at  their  vulgarity. 
Even  Horace,  of  whom  her  father  was  very  fond,  incensed 
her  by  his  thinly-veiled  libidity.  Sometimes  she  even  took 
her  father  to  task  as,  for  example,  when  he  praised  Horace's 
Ode  to  Thaliarchus. 

"But  think,  Daughter,"  her  father,  vexed,  replied,  "how 
nobly  it  opens:  *'Vides  ut  Soracte  stet  candidum  alta  nive, 
laborantes  silvae  nee  jam  sustineant  onus,  flumina  constiter- 
int  acuto  geluque.  Dissolve  frigus,  large  reponens  ligna 
super  foco,  atque  benignius  deprome,  O  Thaliarche,  quad- 
rimum  merum  Sabina  diota.'  " 

"Yes,  Papa," was  her  instant  rejoinder,  "but  think  also  how 
ignobly  he  closes:  °'Nunc  et  lenes  que  susurri  sub  noctem, 
repetantur  composita  hora,  nunc  et  gratus  risus  ab  intimo 
angulo,  proditor  latentis  puellae,  pignusque  dereptum 
lacertis,  aut  digito,  male  pertinaci.'  Ugh!  I  can't  endure 
him." 

Nevertheless,  she  was  afraid  of  Samuel  Simonson.  She 
was  sorry  she  had  allowed  Harold  to  coax  her  into  inviting 
him  to  The  Elms.  She  recalled  the  night  of  the  tragic 
Fourth  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's.  She  then  had  hated  him 

*  Seest  thou  how  Soracte  stands  white  with  the  deep  snow,  and 
how  the  struggling  woods  cannot  now  support  the  weight,  and  the 
rivers  are  congealed  by  the  penetrating  frost.  Dispel  the  cold  by 
freely  piling  the  logs  upon  the  hearth,  and  more  liberally  bring  out, 
O  Thaliarchus,  the  four-year-old  wine  from  the  Sabine  jar. 

0  Now  let  soft  whispers  at  the  approach  of  night  be  repeated  at 
the  appointed  hour,  and  now  also  the  pleasant  laugh  from  some  secret 
corner,  the  betrayer  of  the  lurking  maiden,  and  the  forfeit  snatched 
from  her  arms,  or  from  her  fingers,  affectedly  resisting. 


156  AMEEICANS  ALL 

/• 

on  Felix  Palfrey's  account.  Strangely  enough  the  flame  of 
her  hatred  had  consumed,  not  Simonson,  but  Palfrey.  Her 
hatred  of  Simonson,  sudden  and  uncontrollable,  had  been 
inspired  by  envy:  he  had  something — a  fullness  and  com 
pleteness  of  physical  energy  and  masterfulness — Palfrey 
did  not  possess.  She  was  wrought  to  sudden  fury  by  the 
thought  that,  in  accepting  Palfrey,  she  was  being  robbed. 
She  wanted — not  Simonson;  as  he  was  a  "cracker"  she  had 
never  thought  of  him  as  a  possible  husband,  but — in  Pal 
frey  Simonson's  girth,  and  height,  and  breadth,  and  force- 
fulness,  and  virility.  And  because  that  was  impossible  she 
had  hated — Palfrey. 

But  since  that  awful  night  many  things  had  transpired. 
She  was  done  with  Palfrey  and  he  was  gone — for  that  she 
was  devoutly  thankful.  Her  long  illness,  too,  had  afforded 
time  and  opportunity  for  calm  reflection;  to  reckon  anew 
her  moral  and  spiritual  latitude  and  longitude;  to  appraise, 
with  wider  and  deeper  knowledge  and  experience,  earthly 
and  heavenly  verities  and  values;  and  to  more  accurately 
determine  and  plan  her  future  conduct  and  destiny. 

Moreover,  political  events  had  varied,  in  some  cases  re 
versed,  the  old  order.  A  "cracker"  now  was  President  and 
was  astonishing  the  world  with  his  gentleness,  sagacity, 
courage,  and  noble  manhood.  On  every  hand  "crackers" 
were  rushing  to  the  fore — was  the  world  coming  to  an  end  ? 
During  her  excruciating  pain  she  had  prayed  much — but  to 
Whom?  Jesus,  a  plebeian  mechanic.  With  a  gasp  as  these 
thoughts  had  come  booming  into  her  consciousness,  like  the 
midnight  tide  of  the  ocean,  she  had  said  to  herself :  "Who 
am  I?  Where  do  I  belong?  With  the  aristocracy  of  the 
world?  It  seems  not.  Jesus  the  true  Aristocrat,  not 
Tiberius  Caesar.  Saul  of  Tarsus,  the  man  among  men,  not 
Nero.  Carpenter  and  tentmaker,  "crackers,"  yet  at  the  very 
apex  of  the  world's  nobility." 


QUOTH  POLLY 

Samuel  Simonson — ah,  yes !  Did  she  hate  him  now  ?  No 
— but  she  feared  him.  Those  strong  legs;  those  long", 
sinewy  arms ;  those  shapely,  gripping  hands ;  those  herculean 
shoulders;  that  deep  expanding  breast;  that  heart  she  in 
stinctively  felt  must  sometimes  beat  furiously  in  its  prison; 
that  firm  mouth  and  jaw ;  those  keen,  steady,  piercing  blue- 
gray  eyes ;  that  leonine  head — she  was  afraid  of  him.  What 
might  he  not  sometime  do  to  her  or  with  her,  were  he  so 
a-mind?  She  recalled  Harold's  remark:  "Why,  Vergie, 
Simonson  could  take  you  in  his  arms  and  crush  you  in  an 
instant,"  and  a  low  tense  flame  glowed  in  her  eyes  and 
tinged  her  cheeks. 

Yes,  he  was  a  "cracker,"  but  also  he  was  a  gentleman. 
How  Harold,  her  own  brother,  had  praised  the  young  law 
yer  !  Yet  Harold  at  first  had  hated  him.  Was  she  to  have 
a  like  experience? — to  pass  from  hatred  to ? 

"Vergie!"  She  was  startled  out  of  her  reverie.  It  was 
Harold  calling  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Yes,  Harold?" 

"That  terrible  ogre's  coming." 

"Yes?" 

"Shall  I  bring  him  to  your  room?" 

"I— I— don't  know,  Harold." 

"You  sent  for  him.    Hurry,  Vergie !" 

"Yes,  Harold — bring  him  up." 

"And,  Vergie,  do  you  know  the  latest  popular  song?" 

"No,  Harold,  you  never  told  me — but  you  won't  have 
time  to  tell  me  now.  He  must  be  almost  to  the  door."  She 
was  anxiously  patting  down  the  folds  of  her  gown. 

"Yes,  I  have,  sister  dear.  Think  you  can  remember  it? 
Now,  don't  forget.  Here  it  is : 

"  'Sam  Simonson  was  Abe  Simonson's  son, 
And  he  was  a  drunkard,  too.' " 


158  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Oh !"  The  reminder,  though  but  an  outlandish  jest  such 
as  brothers  delight  in,  was  to  Vergie  like  an  iced-water 
plunge,  followed  by  a  sudden  dip  in  boiling  vitriol.  The 
hypnotic  spell  she  had  woven  about  herself,  romantic  and 
sentimental,  now  was  gone.  Something  of  the  old  hatred 
returned,  the  feeling  she  had  on  the  night  of  the  Fourth. 
For  a  moment  she  was  blind  and  nauseous.  No!  She 
wouldn't  see  him!  Why  should  she  bemean  herself  by  sit 
ting  tete-a-tete  with  the  plebeian  son  of  old  Abe  Simonson, 
the  drunkard  ?  She  wouldn't !  She 

There  was  a  light  tap  at  the  door,  very  gentle.  "It  must 
be  Mother/'  she  thought. 

"Come." 

Noiselessly  the  door  was  opened,  as  a  mother,  fearing  she 
might  disturb  a  sick  or  slumbering  child,  would  have  opened 
it,  and  the  young  lawyer  entered. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  Taken  so  completely  by  surprise, 
she  had  forgotten,  for  the  moment,  to  greet  and  welcome 
him  as  she  otherwise  would  have  done,  even  though  he  had 
been  an  utter  stranger. 

"Yes,  Miss  Culpepper,  it  is  I.  Your  brother  protested 
that  his  sister  was  so  'fierce'  he  was  afraid  to  venture  up 
stairs,  and  dared  me  come  up  and  face  the  'lioness  in  her 
den.' "  His  voice  was  deep  and  musical,  and  his  face  was 
anything  but  stern,  as  she  had  expected  it  to  be.  In  fact, 
it  was  half  smiling,  and  there  was  a  roguish  gleam  in  his 
eyes. 

She  arose  with  a  natural  but  exquisite  grace  and  gave 
him  her  hand.  "You  are  a  brave  man  to  venture  so  much, 
especially  after  being  so  solemnly  warned  by  such  an  in 
trepid  hero  as  my  brother."  She  was  smiling. 

"Oh,  you  mean,  I  suppose,  that  my  valor  is  greater  than 
my  discretion.  What  is  the  old  saying?  Tools  rush  in 
where  angels  fear  to  tread.'  So?  Then  let  me  quote 


QUOTH  POLLY  159 

another  and  apply  it  to  myself:  'The  fool  is  happy  that 
he  knows  no  more' ;  and  another :  'To  wisdom  he's  a  fool 
that  will  not  yield.' " 

She  looked  at  him  sharply.  Were  there  hidden  meanings 
in  his  quotations — interlineations  she  could  not  read? 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Culpepper.  I  forgot  that  you  have 
been  ill,  and  now  are  only  convalescent.  I  should  not  have 
permitted  you  to  rise,"  arranging  her  chair  for  her  with 
gentle  solicitude. 

"You  have  not  resided  in  New  Richmond  very  long,  Mr. 
Simonson  ?"  interrogatively. 

"That  depends  on  how  you  reckon  time.  Bailey,  you 
know,  says,  'We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.'  If 
that  be  true,  I  have  lived  in  New  Richmond  a  long  while." 

Vergie  somehow  felt  uncomfortable.  She  vaguely  re 
sented  the  aptness  and  promptness  of  his  replies.  If  he 
were  exactly  a  proper  person  it  would  be  different,  but 

"Yes,"  he  was  continuing,  "I  sometimes  dispute  the  tes 
timony  of  my  very  staid  and  orthodox  watch — even  of  my 
spinal  column.  For  instance,  I  have  listened  to  sermons 
that  I  would  have  sworn,  on  the  authority  of  my  spinal 
column,  were  anywhere  from  a  century  to  an  eternity  long, 
when  my  watch  would  boldly,  and  with  no  little  impudence, 
declare  that,  from  text  to  peroration,  only  twenty  minutes 
had  elapsed.  Another  time,  listening  to  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher, 
I  was  vexed  because  he  stopped  so  soon;  but  again  my 
watch  reproved  me  by  holding  up  both  hands  and  proclaim 
ing  that  he  had  preached  more  than  two  hours." 

"Of  course  he  preached  on  the  evils  of  slavery,  and  merci 
lessly  denounced  the  South." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Miss  Culpepper.  His  text  was,  'Judge 
not,  that  ye  be  not  judged;  for  with  what  judgment  ye 
judge  ye  shall  be  judged.'  " 


160  AMERICANS  ALL 

Vergie  was  becoming  angry.  "Is  he  trying  to  get  even? 
Does  he  mean  to  insult  me?"  Then-,  aloud: 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Simonson,  you  are  very  fond  of  Boston." 
She  was  not  getting  on  well  and  was  at  a  loss  for  a  subject 
of  mutual  interest. 

"Yes,  I  both  like  and  dislike  Boston.  Its  old  buildings, 
rich  with  historic  associations;  its  libraries  and  galleries 
of  art;  its  lyric  and  dramatic  stage;  its  great  symphony 
and  oratorio  concerts — all  these  things  appeal  to  me  greatly. 

On  the  other  hand "  He  paused,  examining  some  late 

roses  in  a  vase  on  the  table. 

"Yes?    'On  the  other  hand' ?"  repeated  Vergie. 

"Boston  is  insular  and  pedantic,  and  that  I  do  not  like. 
Boston  thinks  it's  the  Hub  of  the  Universe,  and  wants  to 
dictate  to  the  whole  world.  Boston,  too,  has  the  spirit  of 
persecution;  and  sometimes  exhibits  a  marvelous  combina 
tion  of  culture  and  cruelty,  aspiration  and  asininity." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Simonson,"  enthusiastically. 

"For  instance,"  continued  the  young  lawyer,  "think  how 
they  mobbed  Mr.  Garrison  and  Mr.  Phillips,  two  of  the 
noblest  men  that  ever  lived;  and  Boston  boasted  that  the 
rioters  wore  broadcloth,  and  were  dressed  de  rigueur.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

"Served  them — ah,  most  indecorously,  I  should  say." 

Again  she  was  angry  and  tempted  to  be  flippant.  She 
had  thought  of  saying,  "Served  them  right,"  or  of  inno 
cently  asking,  "And  were  the  gentlemen  who  were  mobbed 
also  dressed  de  rigueur?  If  not,  the  mob  should  have  been 
ashamed  of  itself.  Gentlemen  should  never  participate  in 
a  function  of  that  sort  without  conventional  attire,  and 
medals  pinned  on  their  breasts,  especially  those  taking  the 
leading  parts  and  enjoying  the  largest  publicity,  such  as  the 
Messrs.  Phillips  and  Garrison." 

**Ne,"  said  the  young  lawyer,  "I  do  not  like  Boston's  per- 


QUOTH  POLLY  161 

secuting  spirit.  Of  all  men,  I  think  the  cool,  deliberate, 
predetermined  persecutor  is  the  most  despicable,  whether 
in  broadcloth,  or  in  jeans  and  corduroy,  and  whether  his 
weapon  be  a  bludgeon  or  a  pen  aided  by  the  flying  Mercury 
of  the  printing  press;  whether  it  be  after  Saul's  manner, 
or  the  stealthy  way  of  a — a  Cataline." 

"Then  I'm  sure  you  daily  meet  many  in  New  Richmond 
who  greatly  excite  your  ire." 

"To  whom  do  you  refer,  Miss  Culpepper?  Monsieur 
Felix  Palfrey,  zee  leetl'  moo-zik  and  \ang-widge  teach- 
aire?" 

The  young  lawyer's  drawl  and  grimace  were  infinitely 
mirth-provoking,  but  Vergie  was  furious.  She  could 
scarcely  contain  herself.  Felix  Palfrey — how  she  hated 
him !  But  why  should  this  Missouri  cracker  taunt  her  with 
him?  Did  he  think  that  she  and  Palfrey  were  lovers — 
perhaps  soon  to  marry?  Palfrey?  Of  course  the  young 
lawyer  knew  Palfrey  had  often  been  an  honored  guest  at 
The  Elms — did  he  know  the  whole  nauseating  story?  Pal 
frey — Cataline !  The  Elms  the  refuge  of  Cataline  Palfrey ! 
Cataline  Palfrey  the  accepted  suitor  of  the  Lady  of  The 
Elms,  as  she  was  often  called!  Cataline  Palfrey — and  this 
Hercules,  in  from  driving  the  herds  of  Geryon,  dares  taunt 
me  by  smilingly  bringing  up  the  name  of  this  zee-ing,  and 
ah-ing,  and  moo-^-ing  pocket  edition  of  a  man!  She 
couldn't  stand  it — she  wouldn't!  Regardless  of  conse 
quences,  she  would  order  him  from  the  house.  She  would — 

"Mr.  Simonson !  Mr.  Simonson !  Will  you  excuse  your 
self  a  moment,  please,  and  come  down?"  It  was  the  voice 
of  Dr.  Culpepper,  and  it  rang  with  anxiety. 

"Certainly,  Doctor!  I'll  be  right  down."  Then  turning 
to  Vergie,  who  at  the  first  sound  of  her  father's  voice  had 
leaped  to  her  feet,  he  said,  "Excuse  me,  Miss  Culpepper. 


162  AMEEICANS  ALL 

More  than  likely  they  will  need  me — that  is,  want  to  make 
some  inquiries  of " 

"Do  you  think  something's  going  to  happen?  Will  there 

be  danger?  I — I "  In  her  anxiety,  her  wrath  now  all 

forgotten,  she  was  standing  very  close  to  the  tall,  rugged, 
sinewy  young  lawyer,  thrilled  by  his  presence. 

"How  much  do  you  know?"  His  voice  now  was  strong, 
though  subdued  and  harsh.  Instinctively  she  quailed  before 
him.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  being  addressed  curtly, 
but  now  she  was  not  displeased.  He  was  a  tower  of  strength 
and  determination,  unfearing,  unflinching,  unyielding,  and 
her  heart  went  out  in  gratitude  to  him. 

"I  know  everything,  Mr.  Simonson." 

"Great  God!  Everything?  You  don't  mean  it."  He 
had  seized  her  by  the  arm,  roughly,  brutally,  anything  but 
gallantly,  but  she — enjoyed  it.  He  was  masterful,  to  be 
trusted,  relied  on. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Simonson,  everything :  the  mob  last  night,  the 
threat  to  burn  down  The  Elms,  to  kill  Father,  to " 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  gun  from  over  town,  and  a 
distant  yell. 

"Girl !"  he  almost  hissed.  Now  he  was  bending  over 
her,  looking  into  her  face.  She  felt  at  first  she  couldn't 
endure  his  eyes,  they  were  so  direct  and  searching. 

"Girl,  are  you  a  genuine  Culpepper,  a  true  daughter  of 
your  father?" 

"I— I  think  I  am." 

Again  he  peered  into  her  face.  She  could  feel  his  breath 
on  her  cheeks. 

"Let  me  see  your  hand !  It  doesn't  tremble,  I  see.  You're 
all  right."  There  was  such  a  bluntness  and  finality  in  his 
speech  she  couldn't  refrain  from  smiling.  She  thought  of 
the  dainty  and  esthetic  Felix  Palfrey  and  smiled  again,  but 
this  smile  had  a  frosty  edge. 


QUOTH  POLLY  163 

"Now  be  seated  and  stay  here.  Don't  get  excited;  and 
keep  away  from  the  windows.  It  might  not  be — healthy 
there;  the  night  air  wouldn't  be  good  for  you.  And  don't 
be  afraid.  I  suppose  hell  is  brewing  over  in  town.  The 
deviltry  of  that  Palfrey  you  folks  have  been  mixed  up  with 
has  made  the  people — some  of  them— crazy.  Never  liked 
the  little  runt  myself,  though  I  did  think  he  was  mighty 
cute.  It's  true  I  don't  belong  to  your  class,  but  I'll  see  that 
no  harm  comes  to  you.  If  the  mob  does  get  in  I'll  stand  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  here  and  do  the  Horatius  act ;  and  if 
they  keep  coming,  why — there'll  be  nobody  left  but  us  two 
to  attend  the  funerals." 

Vergie,  strangely  submissive,  had  seated  herself,  and  look 
ing  up,  saw,  to  her  surprise,  that  he  was  laughing.  Sud 
denly  she  felt  a  great  heart-surge  toward  the  strong,  reso 
lute,  masterful  man,  and  hurrying  to  the  door  through 
which  he  had  just  passed,  called : 

"Mr.  Simonson,  you'll  come  back — after  a  bit — won't  you 
— please  ?" 

"Maybe!"    He  was  gone. 

Dr.  Culpepper  advanced,  extending  his  hand,  and  said: 
"Mr.  Simonson,  I  thank  you  for  the  honor  of  this  call,  an 
honor  to  yourself,  sir,  many  times  multiplied  by  a  certain 
unhappy  episode  which  every  member  of  my  family  deeply 
deplores,  and  by  none  quite  as  much  as  my  daughter." 

"I  thank  you,  sir;  but  I  think  I'd  better  be  going,"  said 
the  young  lawyer.  "Between  bad  whiskey  and  misdirected 
patriotism,  a  large  section  of  hades  seems  to  be  turned  loose 
over  in  town."  The  young  lawyer  was  moving  toward  the 
door. 

"You're  quite  right,  Sammy."  It  was  Judge  Gildersleeve, 
whom  the  young  lawyer  had  not  observed.  "The  Doctor 
thinks  there's  no  danger,  but  I  know  better.  Then  there's 
Mrs.  Culpepper  and  Vergie  to  be  considered.  But  if  any- 


164  AMERICANS  ALL 

body  knows  the  situation,  it's  old  Armentrout.  He's  been 
skirmishing  around  for  you  for  more  than  an  hour.  I  met 
him  a  minute  ago  and  told  him  I  could  find  you;  and  he 
said,  'Find  him,  the  ornery  whelp,  and  get  him  here  double- 
quick  ;  there's  hell  to  pay  instanter.'  " 

The  young  lawyer  was  out  and  gone,  making  all  possible 
speed  toward  the  public  square,  now  flying  down  the  gravel- 
walk,  now  cutting  across  lots  and  scaling  rail  and  picket 
fences — and  somehow,  as  he  ran,  Vergie's  face  was  con 
stantly  before  him,  now  scornful,  now  defiant,  now  win- 
somely  submissive  and  pleading,  and  now  alluring  with  that 
beauty  that  sometimes  maddens  men  and  makes  them  forget 
God.  And  though  rushing  on  to  meet  he  knew  not  what 
— possibly  death — he  felt  a  strange  thrill,  electrical,  exhila 
rating,  something  like  that  produced  by  a  mingling  of  laud 
anum  and  champagne — that  exquisite  madness  which  in 
duces  laughter  of  soul,  then  rayless  despair;  a  delirium 
wrought  by  the  presence  and  touch  of  an  uncommonly 
beautiful  woman,  a-tingle  to  her  finger-tips  with  yet  more 
uncommon  physical  strength,  all  compressed  in  a  marvel- 
ously  lithe  and  graceful  body,  and  sex-vitality.  And  the 
effect  on  the  young  lawyer  was  so  searching,  penetrating, 
tumultous,  because  he  himself  was  abnormally  vital.  It 
was  billow  echoing  billow,  and  deep  answering  mighty  deep. 

When  the  young  lawyer  reached  the  public  square,  old 
Amsden  had  secured  the  attention  of  the  mob  that  had 
scared  out  the  town  marshal,  and  now  was  bent  on  "smok- 
ink  out  that  damned  old  Rebel  and  the  whole  caboodle." 

"Men,"  Amsden  was  shouting,  "yuh  dinna  lak  auld  Doc 
Culpaipuh,  'n'  Fleecem  un  Skinem  Gol'beck,  'n'  Prof.  Pinck, 
'n'  th'  res'  o'  'em,  un  naither  dae  Ah ;  bu'  heah  meh !" 

"Tuh  hell  wuth  'em!"  roared  the  crowd. 

"Heah  meh  uh  meenit,  please." 

"G'on,"  shouted  Bat  Perkins,  "bud  hurry! /Gut  f  ged 


QUOTH  POLLY  165 

aip  airly  'n  thuh  mawnin'  tuh  'taind  thuh  foon'rul."    The 
crowd  laughed. 

"Nuvuh  wes  uh  finuh  sait  o'  men  en  thae  warl',  'side  frae 
pol'tics,"  old  Amsden  was  saying.  "Luik  't  Prof  Pink! 
Warks  lak  thae  deil  t'  git  uh  li'l  sainse  intae  yir  young'uns' 
heids.  Gie  'im  hef  uh  chanct  T  he'll  male'  foine  main  'n' 
wummen  oot  o'  'em,  evun  ef  thair  daddys  air  uh  passul  o' 
scrubs !" 

Again  the  mob  laughed. 

"Then  thah's  auld  Monuh-baigs  Gol'beck.  Skun  uh  flea 
fuh  'ts  hoid  un  talluh;  closuh'n  th'  ba'k  un  uh  tree!  Bu' 
hae  'e  no  he'pt  ye  oot  o'  mony  uh  toight  place — Jeem,  Beel, 
Aipsy,  Bud  Hawkins  ?" 

"Naivuh  uh  durn  cent,"  replied  Hawkins. 

"Hoo  aboot  las'  wintuh  uh  ya'h  syne,  w'en  th'  shur'f  wes 
uh  gaen  t'  sull  ye  oot,  lock,  stock  'n'  bah'l,  fuh  thet  auld 
sew'n  'chine  thut  ye  di'n  need,  'n'  ort  t'  ben  kicked  a'  ower 
toon  fuh  buyin'?" 

"Yuh're  roight,  old  Amsy !  Fuhgut !  Muh  'stake  un  yo' 
treat." 

"  'N'  thah's  auld  Gilduhsleeve.  Fines'  jedge  'at  evuh  sot 
un  th'  shucks,  uh  gunnuh-saick,  uh  w'utaivuh  et  iz !" 

"Hai's  uh  raibul,"  shouted  Phil  Froley.  "Doan'  lak  'im, 
'side's." 

"In  coose  ye  dinna — ken  w'y?  Kaze  'e  sint  y'  t'  th'  pen 
aines  fuh  uh  y'ah  fuh  hoss  stealin'.  Ortuh  ben  tain." 

"Sock  't  tuh  'um,  ol'  Ams!"  the  mob  yelled.  Evidently 
Phil  was  not  a  social  favorite. 

"Noo  wi'  coom  tae  auld  Doc  Culpaipuh."  Amsden  paused 
a  moment,  his  voice  being  drowned  by  a  torrent  of  shrieks 
and  hisses,  "Hang  'im !  Hang  'im !" 

"A'  richt.  Hang  'im!  Druv'  'im  oot!  Git  reed  o'  'rri 
onywa'  yuh  can.  Bu'  hoo  kin  wuh  git  'lang  wi'oot  'im? 
Is  he  no  honus?  Is  he  no  *bleegin'?  Is  he  no  kin'  tae  th' 


166  AMERICANS  ALL 

puir?  Dis  'e  evuh  'fuse  tae  doctuh  fouk  kaze  thuh're  unco 
puir,  un  canna  gie  'im  muckle  siller  ?  Nuvuh !  Nuvuh  sued 
uh  man  en  'iz  life.  Bet  hef  o'  yir  'n  daibt  tae  'im  noo !" 

Still  some  were  shouting,  "Hang  'im !    Hang  'im !" 

"Yus ;  Ah  heah  ye,  Jeem  Hehny.  Bu'  \vha  doctuh'd  yuh 
thrae  thut  lang  spaill  o'  typhoid  fevuh  sax  y'ah  syne,  'n' 
saved  yir  ornery  loife  gin  a'  th'  docs  frae  a'  ower  cr'ation 
'ad  gien  y' oop  tae  dee  ?  Ah'll  tull  ye.  Auld  Doc  Culpaipuh. 
Paid  'im  yit?  Bet  ye  hae  no. 

"  'N'  thah's  yo'  yawpin',  Pete  Snyduh.  Bu'  wha  roid  tain 
mile'  thrae  th'  mood  'at  nicht,  w'en  't  wes  rainin'  pitch- 
fohks,  'n'  wes  dahkuh'n  uh  steck  uh  black  cats,  un  saved 
yo'  li'l  Janey's  loife  w'en  sh'  wuz  chokun  t'  daith  wi'  mem- 
bree-nus  croop?  Huh?  Ainsuh  meh!  Yussure?.  Auld 
Doc  Culpaipuh. 

"Truth  is,  thar  iz  nae  uh  dang'  ane  o'  ye  bu's  unduh 
ob'gations  tae  auld  Doc  Culpaipuh;  un  Ah  'tind  tae  stan' 
by  'im  till  hell  freezes  ower.  Heah  meh !" 

"Ams,  yo  uh  raibul,  too." 

"Ye're  uh  damn'  liah,  Bob  Beech,  yuh  ornery  li'l  snipe. 
Winna  fout  ye;  bu'  ef  Ah  wes  claise  eneuch  Ah'd  spat  un 
yuh  'n'  drown  yuh.  Doot  Ah  cudna  wallop  ye,  huh?  Tul 
yuh  Ah  cud  whup  meh  weight  'n  wil'cats  tae-nicht.  Bu' 
Ah  wadna  durty  meh  han's  wi'  ye.  Oh,  shucks !  uz  Jedge 
Gilduhsleeve  saiys." 

"Ui  yo'  nud  uh  raibul,  ol'  Ams,  what'n  th'  hell  air  yuh 
'roun'  hyar  splav'catin'  fuh  raibuls  fuh?  Tell  whah  yo' 
stan',  un'way." 

"A'  richt.  Ah'm  no  feared,  un  Ah'm  nae  mealy-mooth'd. 
Nuvuh  wuz.  Ah'm  fuh  Abe  Lincoln,  'n'  th'  nigguhs,  un  th' 
hale  Unyun,  un  fuh  hengin'  ilka  raibul  'n'  th'  'Nitud  States, 
frae  Jaiff  Davus  doon,  'cept,  'cept,  mahk  yuh,  oor  ain  fouk. 
Thah's  gaen  tae  be  nae  hengin'  o'  raibuls  'n'  Raleigh  County; 
wi'oot  ma  hailp — 'n'  Ah'll  hailp  t'ither  wy!" 


QUOTH  POLLY  167 

And  thus  the  battle  continued  till  the  blacksmith  had 
bully-ragged,  and  badgered,  and  joked  the  mob  into  a  good 
humor;  and,  as  Bob  Beech  said,  "Thuh  hangin'  wuz  pos'- 
pone'  tull  airly  candul-loight,  some  tudduh  toime.  Bud 
wah'll  git  'urn  yit — spashully  ol'  Doc  Culpaipuh." 

It  was  now  almost  midnight,  and  the  young  lawyer 
doubted  the  propriety  of  returning  to  The  Elms;  but  he 
had  promised — besides,  now  he  felt  a  strange  fascination, 
-.from  which  he  shrank,  yet  could  not  wholly  resist. 

When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  all,  save  for  the 
hall  light  and  a  light  in  one  of  the  upper  chambers,  was 
dark.  But  for  the  fact  that  he  knew  the  Doctor  would  be 
anxious  and  eager  for  a  report  of  the  state  of  affairs,  and 
just  what  had  been  said  and  done,  and  by  whom,  he  would 
have  turned  back.  Of  course,  Vergie  had  long  since  retired. 

Sure  enough,  the  Doctor  was  waiting  for  him,  and  was 
eager  for  information.  There  was  so  little,  however,  to  be 
told  that  Simonson  only  stood  in  the  hall  below,  hat  in 
hand,  and  briefly  related  all  that  had  transpired,  omitting, 
of  course,  the  part  he  had  taken,  and  all  personal  epithets. 
When  done,  Dr.  Culpepper  thanked  him  heartily,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Simonson,  I  want  you  to  know  and  feel  that  you 
are  always  welcome  at  The  Elms ;  and  whenever  I  can 
serve  you  in  any  way,  please  always  bear  in  mind  I  shall 
consider  myself  honored  by  your  commands." 

The  young  lawyer  thanked  the  Doctor  for  his  kindness 
and  was  turning  to  go,  when  a  mellow,  vibrant  voice  from 
above  called : 

"Mr.  Simonson!" 

"Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Simonson,  it's  Vergie  waiting  for 
you.  You'll  have  to  run  up  a  minute  and  give  her  the  news, 
or  she  won't  sleep  any  tonight.  Woman's  curiosity,  you 
know,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

Vergie  was  waiting  for  him.     Standing  in  the  center  of 


168  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  room,  with  the  light  burning  low,  dressed  in  a  dainty, 
filmy  chemise  de  nuit,  another  gauzy  robe  falling  grace 
fully  about  her,  her  hair  flowing  in  an  ebon  torrent  to  her 
waist,  her  eyes  glowing,  her  breast  gently  rising  and  fall 
ing,  and  her  face  illuminated  with  a  welcome  more  eloquent 
than  words  could  express,  she  smiled  and  bade  him  enter. 

"You  need  not  repeat  what  you  told  Papa,  for  I  over 
heard  it  all.  Besides,  Harold,  concealed,  was  an  eye-witness, 
and  has  given  me  some  details  which  you  did  not  relate  to 
Papa — the  sleeping  potion,  for  instance,  you  administered, 
surgically,  and  without  instruments,  to  old  Bill  Jason,  the 
wife-beater. 

"But,"  and  she  now  placed  both  hands  on  his  arm,  "we 
were  interrupted  tonight,  and  there  are  some  things  I  so 
much  wish  to  say,  and  you  to  know." 

She  was  very  close  to  him  and  he  could  see  the  outline 
of  her  lithe  and  smuous  body,  the  marble-white  of  her 
throat,  through  which  a  faint  rose-tint  was  rising,  and  the 
perfect  curve  of  her  lips  that  seemed  to  invite  kisses. 

"Could  you  —  would  you  —  come  again  to-morrow  eve 
ning?"  If  there  was  lacking  aught  of  cordiality  in  her 
words  or  manner — and  there  was  not — it  was  more  than 
atoned  for  by  the  witchery  of  her  wistful,  pleading  eyes. 

Would  he  return?  Would  flowers  refuse  to  leap  into 
Resurrection  life  and  celestial  glory  at  the  awakening  kiss 
of  the  Easter-sun?  Would  the  wild  migrating  swan  in  the 
far  North  refuse  the  lure  of  Southern  climes  when  the 
autumn  chill  has  come?  Do  ocean  tides  ever  refuse  obedi 
ence  to  laws  primeval — perhaps  eternal?  Certainly  not! 
They  obey  the  fundamental  laws  of  their  being.  Ah  ?  And 
Samuel  Simonson  and  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper,  they ? 

An  hour  later,  as  Vergie  was  retiring,  the  parrot,  dis 
turbed  and  possibly  hungry,  with  a  raucous  voice,  shrieked, 
"Polly  wants  a  cracker!  Polly  wants  a  era-acker f" 


QUOTH  POLLY  169 

"So— do — I,"  Vergie  responded. 

Her  maid,  in  the  adjoining  room,  hearing  her  mistress, 
brought  her  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  and  couldn't  under 
stand  why  Vergie  refused  it.  And  Vergie,  with  a  glad 
laugh  that  was  good  to  hear,  said:  "You  dear  thing,  you 
don't  quite  understand  what  I  want.  But  no  matter  now; 
go  to  bed,  please." 


CHAPTER  XII 

DEFECTIONS — GILDERSLEEVE,    GOLDBECK,    HAROLD   CULPEPPER 

IN  great  crises  the  kaleidoscope  of  events  seemingly  re 
volves  rapidly,  and  there  are  many  surprises.  Then  men 
seem  to  change*  their  opinions,  even  their  principles,  over 
night;  suddenly  to  become  basely  inconsistent,  and  to  jus 
tify  the.  charge  of  treason  to  their  former  doctrines  and 
associates.  This  is  because  men  in  great  and  solemn  crises 
hold  counsel  in  the  deep  silences  and  solitudes  of  their  con 
sciences,  investigate  by  stealth,  act  warily,  arid  do  not  as 
sume  the  new  position  resolved  upon  till  everything  is  set 
tled  beyond  peradventure.  Were  men  to  do  all  their  think 
ing  aloud,  to  keep  their  mental  processes  exposed  to  public 
gaze,  as  Hegel  is  said  to  have  done,  and  to  sound  each 
successive  evolution  on  a  megaphone  in  the  public  square, 
there  would  be  no  dramatic  surprises,  or  surprises  of  any 
sort.  Hence,  darkness  is  the  bating  place  of  conspiracy, 
and  secrecy  the  conspirator's  native  air,  whether  the  con 
spirators  and  the  conspiracies  be  good  or  evil. 

Thus  New  Richmond,  the  Northern  Gibraltar  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  was  shocked  by  a  number  of  star 
tling  sensations. 

The  first,  in  order  of  unexpectedness  and  dramatic  quality, 
was  the  defection  to  Lincoln  and  the  Union  of  Harold 
Culpepper. 

The  second  was  a  calm  and  judicial  statement  issued  by 
Judge  Gildersleeve,  published  in  the  local  papers,  that,  every 
thing  considered,  he  felt  himself  duty-bound  to  support  Mr. 

170 


DEFECTIONS  171 

Lincoln  in  all  honorable  endeavors  to  restore  the  Union  to 
its  original  status  quo. 

The  third  was  a  brief  interview  with  New  Richmond's 
wealthiest  citizen  and  leading  banker,  Mr.  Hiram  Goldbeck, 
published  in  the  Chicago  dailies.  Mr.  Goldbeck,  being  in 
Chicago,  attending  the  annual  convention  ot  the  National 
Bankers'  Association,  felt  constrained  to  say  to  the  reporters 
that,  for  the  sake  of  business,  the  safeguarding  and  encour 
agement  of  our  vast  commercial  and  industrial  enterprises, 
and  the  maintenance  of  the  public  credit,  he  had  concluded 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  come  out  boldly,  regardless  of  conse 
quences,  for  the  Union. 

When  the  young  lawyer  came  out  of  The  Elms,  after 
bidding  Vergie  good-night,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  her 
brother  at  the  gate. 

"Why,  Harold,  what  are  you  doing  here?  Standing 
guard?" 

"Waiting  for  you,  Mr.  Simonson,"  not  observing  the  jest. 
"Do  you  mind  if  I  walk  up  to  your  room  with  you?  Or 
maybe  you're  going  to  your  office  first." 

"Glad  to  have  you,  Harold.  Have  a  weed?  Ah,  you've 
got  a  match.  I'm  going  to  my  office  first,  and  there's  no  one 
with  whom  I'd  rather  have  a  quiet  smoke  and  visit  than 
yourself." 

"Does  me  good  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  was  afraid  you'd 
never  forgive  Vergie,  and  that  you'd  always  hold  a  grudge 
against  us." 

"Vergie?  Miss  Culpepper?  Never  forgive  your  sister? 

Why "  He  looked  up  and,  seeing  Harold  eyeing  him 

humorously,  checked  himself. 

"That's  all  right,  old  man.  Of  course  you  like  Vergie, 
and  I  think  all  the  more  of  you  for  it.  In  my  heart  I  knew 
you  couldn't  hold  out  against  her — nobody  can.  Even 


172  AMERICANS  ALL 

Quoth  Horace  has  to  give  in  to  her.  But  if  I  do  say  it 
myself,  no  brother  ever  had  a  finer  sister :  pure  as  an  angel, 
sweeter  than  honeydew,  quick  to  anger  but  quicker  to  peni 
tence — that's  Vergie !"  He  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar 
and  took  a  fresh  light. 

"Mr.  Simonson,'" — there  was  a  long  pause.  Simonson 
was  busy  putting  away  some  papers  and,  for  the  time,  didn't 
observe  Harold's  silence;  in  fact,  was  not  conscious  of  the 
young  man's  presence.  Presently,  however,  he  looked  up 
and  said,  "Well?" 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you  something,  Simonson — something 
I've  not  told  anyone.  Just  why  I  should  tell  you,  instead  of 
some  of  my  more  intimate  friends,  I  don't  know.  Maybe  it's 
because  I  like  you  and  believe  in  you.  I  don't  want  you  to 
argue  with  me,  for  I've  made  up  my  mind  and  you  can't 
change  it — nobody  can  change  it.  I'm  a  Culpepper,  you 
know.  I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything  to  me  unless  I 
ask  you  to;  nor  will  I  promise  to  answer  any  questions. 
Is  it  agreed  ?" 

"All  right,  Harold.    Blaze  away." 

"I'm  going  to  leave  home  tonight  to  enlist  in  the  Union 
army." 

"What!  Leave  home?  Join  the  Union  army?  Are  you 
joking,  or  simply — crazy?" 

"No,  I'm  not  joking,  and  I'm  not  crazy." 

"When  did  you  make  up  your  mind  ?" 

"Don't  know.    Been  making  it  up  a  long  while." 

"Since  when?" 

"Couldn't  say.  Always  talking  politics  at  our  house.  You 
know,  Jefferson  Davis  and  Mother  are  cousins." 

"And  you're  going  to " 

"That'll  do,  Simonson.  I've  gone  over  the  whole  ground 
— fought  over  it!  Good  God,  I  feel  bad  enough  about  it." 


DEFECTIONS  173 

The  young  man's  face,  usually  the  mirror  of  good  cheer,  now 
was  pinched  and  drawn. 

"Tell  me  about  it,  anyway.  Let's  talk  it  over.  You  aston 
ish  me." 

"Well,  to  begin,  my  interest  in  this  affair  dates  back  to 
the  debate  two  years  ago.  Father  and  I  went  down  to 
Egypto.  Of  course,  Father  was  carried  away  with  Douglas, 
and  so  was  I ;  but — somehow  I  liked  Lincoln,  too.  Lincoln 
seemed  to  feel  so  bad  about  the  way  things  were  going. 
Douglas  didn't  seem  to  care  a  damn — but  Lincoln  did  care. 
Then  Douglas  was  so  rough,  just  bullyragged  Lincoln  all 
the  time — in  fact,  wasn't  decent ;  but  Lincoln  was  a  perfect 
gentleman,  and  that  grave  and  gentle  and  considerate  I 
couldn't  keep  from  admiring  him.  Then  Douglas  was 
haughty,  and  had  such  a  strut,  while  Lincoln  was  humble 
and  modest  and  not  at  all  stuck  up.  But  most  of  all  was 
I  touched  by  Lincoln's  pathetic  solemnity  and  deep  earnest 
ness.  Douglas  was  hilarious  and  boisterous,  and  had  a  sort 
of  don't-care-a-damn  air  about  him,  but  Lincoln — well,  he 
was  different. 

"When  the  debate  was  over,  Father  and  I  went  down  to 
the  hotel  where  they  were  stopping.  Going  in,  we  met  them 
as  they  were  going  out  to  supper  together.  Both  spoke  to 
Father  and  shook  hands  with  him.  Then  Douglas  said  to 
me,  'Hello,  Bub/  and  passed  on — didn't  offer  to  shake  hands. 
But  Lincoln  reached  away  down,  seemed  about  a  mile,  and 
took  my  hand,  and  said  something  about  my  'noble  father,' 
that's  the  way  he  put  it,  and  said  he  was  a  Kentuckian,  too, 
but  a  mighty  poor  sample,  he  was  afraid,  referring  to  him 
self,  you  know,  and  that  he  had  married  a  Kentucky  girl — 
finest  stock  in  the  world — and  his  face  lighted  up  with  a 
wonderful  smile ;  and  I  somehow  wondered  how  people 
could  so  hate  him. 


174  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Well,  that  was  the  beginning ;  and  I  began  thinking,  and 
I've  been  thinking  ever  since. 

"Then  Lincoln  was  elected,  and  I  knew  hell  would  be  to 
pay.  If  we  could  have  gagged  the  preachers,  and  cut  the 
throats  of  the  politicians,  things  would  have  quieted  down, 
and  there'd  have  been  no  war.  But  God!  They  roared 
like  howling  dervishes,  on  the  stump  and  in  the  pulpit. 
Preachers  meant  all  right — best  men  in  the  world,  but  got 
no  sense.  Why  can't  preachers  keep  out  of  politics,  and  keep 
politics  out  of  the  pulpit?  They're  sent  to  preach  heaven, 
and  not  to  raise  hell.  Am  I  right,  Simonson?" 

"Keep  to  your  text,  old  man.  Preachers  are  not  in  the 
text — at  least,  now.  Go  on,  old  man."  The  young  lawyer 
was  smiling,  but  deeply  interested. 

"Well,  soon  after — last  February,  wasn't  it? — you  came — 
you  and  that  jackass  Palfrey.  And  about  the  time  you  two 
blew  in,  Mother's  letter  from  Uncle  Jeff  was  lost.  Say,  we 
know  that  screech  was  found — no  doubt  about  that — but  by 
whom,  or  who's  got  it  now,  we've  never  been  able  to  find  out. 

"Then  Uncle  Jeff  set  up  his  Government  down  South 
and,  of  course,  our  folks  were  inflated ;  'a  President  in  our 
family,  I  want  you  to  know.  The  dear  Mater  could  hardly 
contain  herself.  Sister  was  a  whole  lunatic  asylum,  with  an 
annex ;  and  good  old  Quoth  Horace  wanted  to  have  a  bon 
fire.  Would,  I  guess,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  old  Lex-et-Jus- 
titia,  my  to-be  Pater-in-Lex,  who  said  it  would  never  do. 

"I  didn't  let  on  but  I  was  with  them — did  my  stunt, 
danced  a  jig,  and  rattled  my  tambourine  a  time  or  two  when 
it  came  my  turn.  Remember  the  bluff  I  run  on  you  the  first 
time  we  met — that  evening  down  at  the  Judge's  ? 

"But  all  the  time  I  was  reading,  thinking,  trying  to  make 
up  my  mind.  Hot  water?  Well,  I  should  say,  with  a  dash 
of  tabasco  out  of  a  tank  just  tapped. 

"Do  you  remember  the  speech  Jack  made  in  Congress  the 


DEFECTIONS  175 

day  after  Uncle  Jeff  set  up  shop  in  Mon?  Oh,  it  was  a 
hummer !  Hot  off  the  bat,  too !  The  gist  of  it  was :  'You 
Southern  states  haven't  the  right  to  go,  and  you  shan't  go!' 
Well,  I  was  already  under  conviction,  as  the  Methodists  say, 
and  what  Jack  said— that's  what  we  call  Logan  down  here 
— made  a  powerful  impression  on  my  mind. 

"Then  Abe  Lincoln's  turn  at  the  bat  came — say,  Simon- 
son,  did  you  read  that  inaugural  of  his?  /  did,  but  down 
at  old  Amis'  shop  on  the  sly.  Quoth  Horace  tore  it  out  of 
the  paper  before  he  brought  the  paper  home.  And  I  said 
to  myself,  'Old  Abe,  well  done!  Washington  never  did  as 
well ;  for  you're  kinder,  and  gentler,  and  have  more  love  in 
your  heart  than  any  man  that  ever  lived,  except  the  Saviour.' 

"After  that  I  watched  the  South.  I  said,  That'll  touch 
'em.  They  never  can  resist  that  heartbreaking  appeal !'  But, 
no,  sir;  they  got  madder  than  ever.  Not  long  after — a 
week,  maybe — Mother  got  another  letter  from  Uncle  Jeff, 
and,  oh,  it  was  nasty.  Called  Lincoln  all  sorts  o'  names — 
Tyrant/  and  Tsar,'  and  'Oppressor' ;  and  Northern  folks, 
'Yankees/  and  'Shopkeepers/  and  'Moneygrubbers/  and 
'Nigger-worshipers/ 

"Oh,  I  was  in  a  state  of  grace,  all  right.  I  swore  like 
hades,  but  all  on  the  inside. 

"Then  they  tore  down  'Old  Glory'  at  Charleston,  and  1 
was  fighting  mad ;  and  when  it  came  to  that.  Quoth  Horace 
gave  in  a  little.  I  could  see  that  it  hurt,  but  he  stood  by  his 
guns.  Take  down  that  flag,  Son/  he  said  to  me.  Mother 
always  kept  a  flag  draped  about  a  picture  of  some  old  ances 
tor  of  ours  who  signed  the  Declaration.  Down  I  took  it, 
but  getting  madder  and  madder  every  heart-throb.  'What 
shall  I  do  with  it,  Father?'  I  said;  'throw  it  in  the  fire?' 
Had  he  said,  yes,  I  meant  to  defy  him  then  and  there.  But, 
to  my  surprise,  he  loosened  up,  and  I  saw  tears  in  his  eyes 
— and  you  know  Quoth  Horace  isn't  of  the  weepy  sort — 


176  AMERICANS  ALL 

nay,  nay,  sweet  Alma  May !  And  he  said,  'No,  my  son,  my 
boy;  fold  it  up  gently  and  lay  it  away.  Some  day  reason 
and  tolerance  may  return  to  my  countrymen,  and  once  more 
we  can  proudly  unfold  it  to  receive  the  kisses  of  the  sun 
and  the  benediction  of  the  skies.  For  it  has  a  great  and 
glorious  history,  and  I  love  it,  love  it,  even  as  I  love  my 
country!' — meaning  only  half  of  it,  however,  the  Southern 
half.  And  do  you  know,  Simonson.  old  Quoth  Horace 
actually  caught  it  up  in  his  arms,  kissed  it,  and  wept  like  a 
baby.  And  I  said  to  myself,  low,  so  he  wouldn't  hear  me, 
'Damn  the  niggers !'  And,  like  a  flash,  I  thought  of  Lincoln, 
just  as  I  saw  him  down  at  Egypto  pleading  for  the  niggers. 
And  I  thought,  'Maybe,  after  all,  slavery's  wrong!  But, 
whether  right  or  wrong,  Uncle  Jeff  and  his  Government's 
going  to  keep  them,  even  if  they  have  to  smash  everything 
to  smithereens.'  And  I  was  hotter  than  ever. 

"But  at  last  Douglas  redeemed  himself.  Poor  fellow! 
he's  dead  now,  yonder  by  the  inland  sea — died,  we  all  know, 
of  a  broken  heart.  In  purpose  he  was  all  right,  only  crazed 
and  hardened  by  ambition— just  like  lawyers  and  doctors 
sometimes — yes,  and  even  preachers.  And  when  a  preacher 
gets  ambitious  to  shine,  he's — well,  the  limit.  Oh,  yes,  I'm 
orthodox.  With  all  my  heart  I  pray,  in  the  language  of  the 
Prayer  Book,  'From  all  such,  good  Lord,  deliver  us !' 

"Tired,  Simonson?  I'm  wearing  you  out,  ain't  I?  But 
you  know  I'm  going  tonight,  old  man,  and  this  is  my  vale 
dictory — sort  of  an  'Apologia  pro  vita  sua,'  as  dear  old 
Quoth  Horace  would  say — dearest  old  daddy  that  ever  lived ! 

"But  there  isn't  much  more  to  say.  Lincoln's  message  to 
Congress  on  the  Fourth  finished  my  conversion;  and  the 
Battle  of  Bull  Run  set  me  on  fire.  I'd  have  gone  then,  but — 
but  you  know  what  happened  that  night,  and  I  couldn't 
leave  Vergie ;  and  somehow  I  couldn't  leave  without  trying 
to  make  things  right  with  you.  And  then  that  sneak — you 


DEFECTIONS  177 

know  whom  I  mean — Palfrey — was  here  trying  to  marry 
Yergie,  and " 

'What!  Felix  Palfrey  trying  to  marry  Vergie  Culpepper! 
Why,  was  she  in  love  with  him?"  The  young  lawyer  had 
suddenly  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"If  she  had  been,  guess  she'd  have  married  him." 

"But " 

"Let's  stick  to  the  text,  old  man!"  Harold  said,  with  a 
wan  smile.  Then,  relenting,  "We're  under  obligations  to 
you,  Simonson,  and  you're  all  right;  so  I'll  speak  frankly. 
At  first  Vergie  liked  him.  You  yourself  know  that  he  was 
apparently  the  correct  thing:  four  X's,  title  blown  in  the 
bottle,  imperial  seal  in  red,  two  rows  of  decorations,  s.  p. 
q.  r.,  xyz,  &c. !  Then  he  was  highly  accomplished  and, 
withal,  was  so  excruciatingly  funny  in  the  role  of  his  alter 
ego — clown,  monkey,  babboon,  and  punch-and-judy  show, 
all  in  one ;  and  when  old  Ams  and  the  rest,  but  especially  old 
Ams,  wool  completely  pulled  over  their  eyes,  would  ask 
such  silly  questions,  and  gravely  swallow  whole  his  absurd 
answers,  Vergie  would  scream  with  laughter.  As  a  trifler, 
Palfrey  was  all  right,  and  as  a  diversion  his  mission  was  all 
O.  K.,  but  when  Vergie  came  to  realize  that  he  meant  to 
deliver  this  community,  or  as  much  of  it  as  possible,  over  to 
Uncle  Jeff's  Government,  not  in  a  fair  and  open  manner,  but 
by  trickery  and  fraud,  she  hated  him.  And  Vergie's  hatred, 
once  aroused,  is  something  terrible." 

Harold  paused  and  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  young 
lawyer.  There  was  a  look  of  wistfulness,  almost  entreaty,  in 
his  face.  He  had  a  reputation  for  wildness — not  exactly 
bad,  flagitiously  evil,  yet — well,  there  were  parents  who 
would  not  have  welcomed  him  as  a  suitor  for  their  daugh 
ter's  hand.  The  young  lawyer  had  heard  these  rumors  and, 
from  what  he  had  seen,  more  than  half  believed  them — 


178  AMERICANS  ALL 

though  he  confessed  he  had  no  positive  knowledge  of  wrong 
doing  on  the  young  man's  part.  But  now  there  was  a  look 
of  sublimity,  exaltation,  in  his  countenance  that  could  not 
be  denied.  The  young  lawyer  saw  it,  felt  it,  was  awed  by 
it.  Sometimes,  when  deeply  moved  by  a  great  and  worthy 
emotion,  the  best  that  is  in  us  rises  and  shines  in  our  faces 
— Moses,  the  martyr  Stephen,  Christ  at  the  Transfiguration. 
It  is  called  the  solar  light ;  perhaps  in  some  cases  it  is  even 
more  than  that.  At  any  rate,  Harold  had  it,  and  the  young 
lawyer  was  awed  by  it. 

"Simonson,"  he  began  slowly,  "I  wronged  you  once  and  I 
don't  want  to  repeat  it.'  Such  things  are  not  pleasant  to 
remember,  especially  when  going  away,  as  I  am,  without 
saying  good-bye  to  anybody  except  you — and,  maybe,  not  to 
return.  I  was  jealous  of  you,  afraid  you  were  going  to  win 
Marjorie  away  from  me — that  is,  when  you  came  to  New 
Richmond.  My  God,  how  I  dreaded  you ! — yes,  and  hated 
you.  Somehow  I  had  a  premonition  that  you  would  fall  in 
love  with  her ;  and  I  knew,  after  you'd  been  here  a  month, 
that,  if  you  entered  the  list,  Marjorie's  father  would  favor 
your  suit.  Even  of  Marjorie  herself,  though  we  were  en 
gaged,  I  had  my  doubts:  and  'twixt  hate  and  jealousy,  I 
said  every  damaging  thing  I  could  against  you.  Oh,  I  know 
it  was  devilish  mean,  and  I'm  heartily  ashamed  of  it ;  and  all 
the  more  because  I  know  my  fears  were  groundless.  Of 
course,  you  never  cared  for  Marjorie  as  I  do,  and  I  reckon 
Marjorie  never  regarded  you  other  than  as  a  friend  whom 
she  highly  esteemed." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  the  young  lawyer  for  affirmation. 
The  young  lawyer's  heart  was  in  a  tumult,  and  he  was  fear 
ful  that  it  would  betray  him.  In  his  soul  it  was  Independ 
ence  Day  evening  again,  and  he  was  drinking  in  Marjorie's 
kisses — kisses  as  passionate,  and  as  freely  given,  as  his  own 


DEFECTIONS  179 

feeling  the  wayward  tress  of  her  hair  on  his  brow, 
and  the  close  nestling  of  her  body  against  his  breast,  and 
seeing  in  her  eyes  the  message  that  has  moved  men  of  every 
age  and  clime  to  ecstasy.  "Oh,  why  has  Harold  mentioned 
Mar jorie  ?"  the  young  lawyer  said  to  himself,  "and  that,  too, 
just  when  leaving !  Why  this  barbed  arrow,  carelessly  flung, 
yet  piercing  my  heart  till  I  feel  I  must  cry  aloud  ?" 

Vergie — ah,  she  was  forgotten.  It  seems  cruel,  but  is  not 
the  spiritual  forever  triumphant  over  the  material  ?  Vergie, 
with  her  sinuous  beauty  and  exuberant  vitality,  had  set  all 
his  senses  a-tingle ;  but  with  Marjorie,  while  there  had  been 
none  the  less  of  the  vital — a  vitality  that  had  caused  her  to 
tremble  as  he  held  her  in  his  arms  that  night — yet  there  had 
also  been  a  something  else — a  higher,  diviner  something 
added  thereto.  But  he  must  say  something. 

"Then  everything  is  satisfactory  with  you,  Harold.  I 
sincerely  congratulate  you."  He  felt  guilty  of  at  least  am 
biguity,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  say.  At  any 
rate,  he  hoped  that  would  end  the  matter — but  he  was 
mistaken. 

"Satisfactory  ?  Oh,  no,  old  man.  Everything  is  all  right. 
We're  to  be  married — sometime.  I  can  depend  on  her,  for 
she's  the  soul  of  honor ;  but  she  utterly  refuses  to  name  the 
day.  And  then — oh,  it's  foolishness,  I  know,  to  mention 
such  matters,  Simonson,  but  somehow  I  must  talk  to-night — 
she  allows  me  no  privileges.  I  know  the  philosophical  way 
of  looking  at  it,  but  hang  it  all !  I'm  not  a  philosopher,  and 
never  will  be.  Your  high  and  mighty  Professor  Highbrow 
would  calmly  say :  'All  right !  Not  a  single  kiss  or  embrace 
till  after  we're  married?  All  right,  all  right.  Just  keep 
them  for  me  till  then — I  can  wait.'  But  I'm  not  Professor 
Highbrow — yet  that's  Marjorie's  inflexible  edict.  And  I 
must  wait.  I  do  wonder,  old  man,  if  Marjorie  really  has 
any  emotion  or  passion  at  all. 


180  AMERICANS  ALL 

"I've  even  tried  to  make  her  jealous — thought  that  would 
help.  You  know  Edythe  Fernleaf,  the  grass-widow.  Well, 
I've  been  taking  her  out  riding,  and  to  some  parties,  and 
we're  actually  corresponding  now,  and  Marjorie  knows  it; 
but — well,  it's  no  use.  Marjorie's  simply  unbudgeable.  Of 
course  I  feel  like  a  damned  villain  to  be  trifling  with  Edythe ; 
for  even  though  she's  a  grass-widow,  she's  a  noble  woman, 
and's  had  sorrow ;  and  she's  devilish  sweet  and  gentle  and 
— and  comforting. 

"One  other  matter,  Simonson,  and  then  I'm  going — it's 
concerning  Vergie.  Strange,  isn't  it,  that  though  I  don't 
know  you,  I  believe  in  you?  But  for  this  I  wouldn't  say 
what  I'm  going  to  say." 

Again  he  paused,  and  the  same  anxious  look,  wan  and 
pleading,  which  the  young  lawyer  once  before  had  noticed, 
again  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Simonson,  I  don't  know  whether  you  care  anything  for 
Vergie  or  not,  and  it's  not  becoming  in  me  to  catechize  you. 
There  is  every  reason  why  you  should  not  like  her ;  besides, 
you  hardly  know  her.  And  yet  I  have  another  of  my  persist 
ent  premonitions  that  you  do,  or  are  going  to — maybe  are 
going  to  have  for  her  the  same  feeling  I  have  for  Marjorie. 
Now,  you'll  forgive  me  for  saying  this,  won't  you,  old  man  ? 
And  especially  when  it's  my  own  sister  I'm  talking  about. 

"As  to  Vergie's  feeling  for  you  I  know  nothing ;  but  here 
again  I  have  that  same  premonition  I  already  have  men 
tioned,  though  she'd  never  forgive  me  if  she  knew,  or  ever 
were  to  learn,  of  this  conversation.  If  I  do  say  it,  Vergie's 
a  wonderful  girl — the  sort  that  in  the  elder  day  founded 
great  universities,  and  states,  and  empires,  and  rode  to  battle 
in  war-chariots ;  and,  when  fierce  maritime  powers  were 
struggling  in  life-and-death  grapple  for  sea-supremacy, 
person  commanded  great  navies;  and  that — sometimes  fell 


tie 

;" 


DEFECTIONS  181 

—  from  their  high  estate  —  not  from  onslaught  of  outer 
enemy,  but,  even  more  masterful  and  imperious,  hurling 
defiance  at  convention,  by  their  sex-self,  sex-conquered. 

"Forgive  me,  Simonson.  I'm  becoming  melodramatic; 
but  I'm  not  quite  myself  tonight.  The  thoughts  and  pas 
sions  of  two  years,  rising  each  day  a  little  higher,  have  now 
reached  their  climax.  Across  the  Rubicon  I  hear  the  call ; 
but  I  shrink  a  little — just  a  little. 

"It  is  only  this  I  want  to  say:  If  you  and  Vergie  ever 
should  come  to  care  for  each  other — if  that  wonderful  thing 
we  clumsily,  and  without  poetry  or  vision,  call  love — love 
for  each  other — should  knock  at  the  door  of  your  hearts,  and 
both  of  you  should  joyfully  extend  hospitality,  remember 
that  you  have  the  blessing  and  infinite  good-will  of  Vergie's 
brother.  And,  as  you  value  your  soul,  you  will  shield  and 
safeguard  her  honor !" 

As  if  waking  from  a  dream,  the  young  lawyer  now  for 
the  first  time  fully  realized  that  Harold  Culpepper  was  going 
away  without  anyone's  consent,  without  anyone's  knowledge, 
even,  save  his  own — to  fight  for  a  cause  his  whole  family 
hated,  against  a  cause  as  dear  to  them  as  their  lives — and 
that  it  would  be  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  for  him  to  ever 
obtain  forgiveness  for  the  step  he  was  about  to  take.  But  it 
was  not  too  late  for  him  to  reconsider ;  even  yet  he  could  turn 
back  if  he  only  would.  Realizing,  in  a  measure  at  least,  the 
gravity,  even  awfulness,  of  the  resolve  Harold  was  about  to 
put  into  execution,  he  attempted  to  dissuade  him. 

"No  use,  old  man,"  was  his  only  response.  "I'm  a  Ken- 
tuckian.  Have  you  noticed  that  Kentucky  has  not  gone  out 
of  the  Union,  though  Uncle  Jeff  is  trying,  over  the  protests 
of  lawful  authority — that  is,  the  people  of  the  commonwealth 
— to  'subjugate'  it,  and  to  'coerce'  it,  and  even  now  has  in  it 
an  'army  of  invasion'?  If  you  ever  talk  this  matter  over 


182  AMEEICANS  ALL 

with  Father,  tell  him  that  I  am,  at  least  sc  far  as  our  state 
is  concerned,  a  States'  Rights  man ;  that  I'm  fighting  that 
our  dear  old  Kentucky  may  have  the  privilege  of  shaping  her 
own  destiny  without  outside  interference.  Good-bye,  Mr. 
Simonson." 

"Good-bye,  Harold!  May  the  good  God  ever  have  you 
in  his  keeping !" 

Harold  Culpepper  was  gone  to  join  Grant's  command. 

The  young  lawyer  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  almost 
three  o'clock.  At  five  Harold  would  take  the  train  at  Enochs- 
burg.  As  he  looked  out  into  the  starlit  night  he  saw  the  dim 
outline  of  a  horse  and  horseman  as  they  turned  at  the  south 
west  corner  of  the  public  square  and  faced  due  west — and 
for  a  minute  only  heard  the  rhythmical  hoof-beats  of  the 
sinewy  and  fleet-limbed  Kentucky  Morgan.  With  a  deep 
sigh,  and  a  heart  full  of  contending  emotions,  he  closed  the 
door. 

A  moment  he  stood  debating  whether  it  were  worth  while 
to  go  to  bed.  As  sleep  would  be  impossible  in  his  present 
frame  of  mind,  he  concluded  he  would  not  retire.  He 
glanced  about  for  a  book  to  read,  and  was  about  to  take 
up  a  volume  of  Webster's  Speeches,  when  he  heard  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps  and,  a  moment  later,  a  vig 
orous  rap  on  the  door.  Opening  the  door,  a  stranger 
entered. 

"Mr.  Simonson?" 

The  young  lawyer  bowed. 

"Mr.  Samuel  Simonson,  lawyer?" 

Again  the  young  lawyer  bowed,  wondering  who  his  noc 
turnal  visitor  could  be. 

"Can  you  identify  yourself,  Mr.  Simonson?  I  mean  at 
this  hour." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well,"  the  young  lawyer 


DEFECTIONS  183 

retorted,  not  ungraciously,  however,  "for  you  to  identify 
yourself.  I  have  an  uncomfortable  way  sometimes,  being 
a  lawyer,  of  seriously  interfering  with  the  movements  and 
operations  of  strangers." 

The  stranger  smiled.  "You're  quite  correct,  sir.  I'm  a 
special  messenger  from  the  Western  Union  office  at  Enochs- 
burg.  I  have  a  telegram.  It  came,  as  you  will  presently 
see,  presuming  that  you  are  'Samuel  Simonson,  Lawyer' — 
it  is  now  3  o'clock — at  2 105.  It  is  necessary  that  the  proper 
party  should  have  the  message  immediately." 

"Whom  is  it  from  ?" 

"I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell.  If  you'll  be  so  kind  as  to 
identify  yourself,  I'll  be  obliged  to  you." 

"Huh !    Whom  can  I  reach  at  this  hour?" 

"The  livery  barn  is  open — a  team's  just  arrived.  I  also 
saw  a  light  at  the  hotel.  The  two  proprietors  will  do." 

Happily,  Nic  Tutwiler  and  Ham  Singleton  were  at  their 
respective  places  of  business.  Signing  their  names  to  a 
receipt,  already  signed  by  the  young  lawyer,  the  telegram 
was  produced. 

The  young  lawyer  offered  the  messenger  a  generous  gra 
tuity,  which  was  firmly  but  civilly  declined,  and,  thanking 
his  neighbors  for  their  kindness,  returned  to  his  office. 

When  he  opened  the  telegram  he  discovered  why  it  had 
been  delivered  so  promptly — and  "also  why  the  messenger 
had  exercised  such  unusual  caution.  It  was  from  the 
President : 

"Executive  Mansion, 

"Washington,  Oct.  8,  1861. 

"Mr.  Samuel  Simonson  :  I  am  naturally  solicitous  for  the 
approval  and  support  of  my  own  state,  but  am  somewhat 
worried  and  alarmed  by  rumors  of  plottings  by  secret  agents 
of  the  insurgent  government  in  your  neck  of  the  woods. 
What  do  you  know  about  a  certain  Felix  Palfrey,  and  the 


184  AMERICANS  ALL 

character  of  his  work?  I  would  like  to  talk  over  with  you 
the  political  situation  in  Southern  Illinois.  Also  the  senti 
ment  of  Southern  Illinois  regarding  the  war  now  in  prog 
ress,  and  especially  of  such  as  are  of  Southern  extraction. 
Could  you  come  to  Washington — at  once?  The  Twelfth 
would  suit  me  best ;  but  a  day  later  or  earlier  will  make  no 
material  difference.  A.  LINCOLN." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  OLD   SOUTH    AND   THE   NEW — PASSION    BAFFLED 

WHEN  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies,  but 
in  battalions,"  averred  the  Bard  of  Avon,  and  the 
young  lawyer  found  it  so. 

The  summons  of  the  President  is  as  the  command  of 
Royalty ;  but  how  could  he  go  to  Washington  at  once  ?  The 
October  session  of  the  Circuit  Court  was  to  convene  that 
morning. 

Through  the  good  offices  of  Judge  Gildersleeve,  he  had 
several  important  cases :  for  the  National  Collectors'  Asso 
ciation  against  a  shyster  firm  that  had  disposed  of  a  stock 
of  goods,  at  cut  prices,  and  tried  to  escape  without  paying 
for  it ;  for  the  Illinois  Central  against  the  Tipton-Raymond 
Milling  Company;  for  the  Government  against  the  Maple 
Creek  counterfeiters;  and  yet  a  fourth — the  first  of  many 
such  cases — in  which  the  right  to  sell  mules  and  horses  to 
the  direct  or  indirect  agents  of  the  Confederacy  was  called 
in  question.  It  was  to  be  a  test  case,  and  Simonson  was  to 
represent  the  Attorney-General. 

The  suit  against  the  Tipton-Raymond  Milling  Company 
was  first  on  the  docket.  But  for  that  case  he  could  get 
away  without  difficulty,  as  there  were  several  cases  before 
the  next  in  which  he  was  interested.  But  for  that  case,  and 
for  his  best  client,  the  Illinois  Central 

Wearily  rising,  he  put  on  his  hat.  "I  always  could  think 
better  on  a  full  stomach.  Besides,  a  breath  of  bracing  Octo- 

185 


186  AMERICANS  ALL 

her  air  will  do  me  good.    Feel  pretty  punk  after  being  up 
all  night." 

It  was  early,  but. breakfast  had  been  called,  and  he  went 
in  and  sat  down  at  a  table  near  an  open  window.  Two 
strangers  were  at  the  table,  and  he  bowed  to  them  as  he 
took  up  his  napkin  and  unfolded  it. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two,  "are  you  Mr. 
Simonson  ?" 

"I  plead  guilty  to  .the  indictment,"  pleasantly. 
."Mr.  Tutwiler,  our  amiable  Saint  Boniface,  told  us  you 
were  an  early  riser.     Glad  to  meet  you.     I  am  Frederick 
Stanton,  of  Longmont,  and  this  is  Judge  Sexton,  of  St. 
Louis." 

Acknowledging  the  introduction,  the  young  lawyer  said: 
"I'm  especially  glad  to  form  your  acquaintance  in  advance 
as  we  are  soon  to  engage  in  battle-royal.  You  represent,  I 
believe,  the  Tipton-Raymond  Milling  Company,  and  I  am 
counsel  for  the  Illinois  Central." 

"The  pleasure  is  ours,  Mr.  Simonson,"  Judge  Sexton 
replied,  "and  we  count  ourselves  very  fortunate  to  meet 
you  thus  early ;  you  see,  we  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"Suppose  you  want  me  to  consent  to  nolle  prosequi,"  with 
a  smile. 

"How's  that,  Stanton?"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  chuckle. 
"Don't  that  remind  you  of  Lincoln?  Just  what  he'd  have 
said."  Then,  turning  to  the  young  lawyer,  "Not  exactly  a 
nolle  prosse,  though  you  might  as  well,  for  of  course  we'll 
thrash  you  out  of  your  boots.  Why,  Simonson,  you've  got 
no  case  at  all,  not  even  a  cork  leg  to  stand  on.  But  then 
we  wouldn't  miss  the  fight  for  anything.  Have  more  fun 
than  a  cage  of  monkeys.  But,  seriously,"  becoming  grave 
and  thoughtful,  "we  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"Yes?  Want  me  to  swallow  a  seidlitz  powder,  I  suppose. 
But  excuse  me,  gentlemen,  what  is  it  you  desire?" 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW  187 

"A  postponement." 

"On  what  grounds,  Judge  Sexton?"  Though  inwardly 
rejoicing  at  the  unexpected  request,  the  young  lawyer  was 
striving  to  look  as  stern  as  possible.  "You  know  the  Illinois 
Central  has  a  clear  case  against  your  clients,  and  they're 
determine'd  to  carry  the  war  into  Africa.  They  have  been 
mercilessly  robbed  of  thousands  of  acres  of  the  finest  tim 
ber,  and  they  feel  especially  bitter  against  the  Tipton- 
Raymond  Milling  Company.  However,  I  don't  feel  like 
crowding  the  mourners.  State  your  case." 

"It's  impossible  for  two  of  our  main  witnesses  t©  be  pres 
ent  at  this  term  of  the  Circuit  Court." 

"Ah?    Unavoidably  detained?    In  the  penitentiary?" 

"Not  that,  Mr.  Simonson,"  replied  Judge  Sexton,  trying 
hard  to  maintain  his  gravity.  "One  is  down  with  typhoid 
fever,  a  very  bad  case,  I  assure  you;  the  other  is  laid 
up  with  a  broken  leg.  Here  are  certificates  from  their 
physicians." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  young  lawyer,  with  seeming  re 
luctance.  "See  Judge  Gildersleeve,  and  if  he  consents,  I 
shall  interpose  no  objections."  He  knew  it  would  make  no 
difference  to  the  Judge,  and  the  request  for  a  postponement, 
however  valid  the  grounds,  would  look  bad  for  the  Tipton- 
Raymond  Milling  Company. 

With  a  much  lighter  heart,  he  returned  to  his  office.  He 
now  would  pack  up  and  go  to  Washington.  His  spirits  rose 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  Lincoln  again — of  the  honor  he 
had  no  thought.  The  National  Capitol,  the  Supreme  Court, 
Congress,  renowned  men  and  monuments — all  well  enough 
in  their  way;  but  Lincoln!  Yes,  he  would  hear  a  few  of 
the  great  speakers :  in  the  House,  Thad  Stevens,  of  course, 
Dan  Voorhees  and  Roscoe  Conkling;  and  in  the  Senate, 
Sumner  and  Fessenden,  and,  if  possible,  Sherman  and  Crit- 
tenden.  He  regretted  that  Davis  and  Toombs  and  Benja- 


188  AMERICANS  ALL 

min  were  no  longer  there.  But,  better  than  all,  best  of  all, 
he  would  hear  Lincoln's  voice,  and  look  into  his  kindly  face. 
Yes,  he  would  take  a  week  off — two  days  each  way  for  the 
journey,  and  three  days  in  Washington.  Later  he  recalled 
that  Congress  was  not  in  session;  but  it  mattered  nothing, 
since  Lincoln  was  there,  and  he  was  going  to  see  him. 

"Pretty  good  old  world,  after  all,"  he  was  saying  to  him 
self,  when  Dr.  Culpepper  entered  his  office.  The  Doctor's 
eyes  were  bloodshot  and  his  face  flushed,  except  his  lips — 
they  were  ashen  and  twitching.  Without  preliminaries,  he 
sternly  asked: 

"Where's  my  son  Harold?" 

The  young  lawyer  was  so  startled,  for  the  moment,  by 
the  Doctor's  appearance  and  hostile  bearing,  he  was  unable 
to  collect  his  thoughts. 

"I  say,  sir,  where's  my  son  Harold?" 

"Really,  Dr.  Culpepper,  how  should  I  know?  I  dear":; 
know  where  he  is,"  stammered  the  young  lawyer. 

"A  very  clumsy  evasion,  and  you're  by  no  means  a  good 
actor.  Why  don't  you  become  melodramatic  and  throw  up 
your  hands  and  exclaim,  'Harold  gone?  For  the  love  of 
heaven,  isn't  he  at  home,  safe  and  sound?'  Come,  Mr, 
Simonson,  out  with  it!  You  know  very  well  that  Harold's 
gone." 

The  young  lawyer  was  nauseous,  sick  at  heart.  Though 
blameless  in  the  matter  of  Harold's  disappearance,  he  began 
to  see  that  the  Doctor  could  never  be  brought  to  see  his  inno 
cence.  "Why  do  you  come  to  me  to  find  out  about  Harold  ?" 
he  managed  to  say. 

"Ah,  you  know  my  boy's  gone;  you  don't  deny  it.  If 
you  were  really  as  innocent  as  you  would  have  me  think 
you  are,  you  would  express  genuine  surprise  and  astonish 
ment  Yes,  I'll  tell  you  why  I've  come  to  you:  You  two 
spent  the  night  together — at  least,  from  the  time  you  left 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  K&lw'o    189 


my  house  till  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.    You 

last  person  with  whom  he  conversed.    And  you  know  where 

he  is  now" 

The  Doctor  was  so  woe-begone  in  appearance,  despite  his 
wrath  —  a  wrath  the  young  lawyer  could  neither  mollify  or 
condemn  —  he  felt  a  sudden  accession  of  pity. 

"Please,  Dr.  Culpepper,  sit  down.  You  are  tired.  Have 
this  easy  chair." 

The  Doctor  ignored  the  invitation.  "Mike  Heidler,  the 
night  watchj  saw  you  coming  from  The  Elms  a  little  before 
midnight;  he  saw  you,  deeply  engaged  in  conversation, 
enter  your  office.  Not  understanding  why  the  two  of  you 
should  stay  up  all  night,  he  kept  an  eye  on  your  office. 
About  three  o'clock  your  door  opened  on  the  landing  out 
side  the  building.  Mike  was  standing  across  the  street,  in 
the  Court  House  yard.  You  parleyed  a  moment,  apparently 
disputing  about  something,  then  shook  hands.  You  re- 
entered  your  office,  but  Harold  proceeded  down  stairs  and 
disappeared,  mounted  on  Black  Devil.  Mike  Heidler  saw 
him  plainly,  as  did  also  Ham  Singleton  and  Nic  Tutweiler. 
He  dashed  down  the  street,  turned  at  the  Porter  corner,  and 
went  out  on  the  Enochsburg  Road.  Haven't  I  got  it  straight  ? 
Answer  me!" 

"The  facts,  Dr.  Culpepper,  tally  with  your  statement." 
the  young  lawyer  knew  it  would  be  folly  to  equivocate. 

A  look  of  both  relief  and  triumph  came  to  the  Doctor's 
face.  "That's  more  like  it,  Simonson.  Now,  tell  me  the 
rest  —  all  of  it.  Come,  speak  up  like  a  man  !" 

The  young  lawyer  liked  the  Doctor  and  didn't  want  to 
hurt  his  feelings.  To  tell  him  that  Harold  had  espoused 
the  Federal  Union,  and  had  gone  to  join  Grant's  command, 
would  be  like  plunging  a  dagger  in  the  good  man's  heart. 
He  thought,  too,  of  the  inevitable  breach  between  father  and 
son,  of  the  sister's  grief,  of  the  mother's  anguish  of  soul. 


190  AMERICANS  ALL 

No! — the  Doctor's  information  must  come  from  some  other 
source.  Then, — 

"No,  Dr.  Culpepper,  I  can't  tell  you  where  Harold  is,  or 
where  he's  gone." 

"You  mean  to  say  you  won't,  do  you?  You  think  you 
can  browbeat  and  bullyrag  me  as  you  did  that  mob  of 
skunks  last  night,  do  you  ?"  The  Doctor  was  beside  himself 
with  rage. 

"Pray,  Doctor,  who  is  being  browbeaten  and  bullyragged 
— you  or  I?"  said  the  young  lawyer,  trying  to  pacify  him. 

"Don't  'pray  Doctor'  me,  you  ornery  whelp.  Once  more ! 
I'll  give  you  this  one  more  chance — will  you,  or  will  you 
not,  answer  me  ?" 

"Then  if  I  must  answer  'yes'  or  'no,'  my  answer  is :  No, 
I  will  not  tell  you.  I'm  sorry,  Doctor ;  but  I  cannot." 

With  the  litheness  of  a  much  younger  man,  the  infuriated 
Doctor  aimed  a  furious  blow  full  at  the  young  lawyer's  face. 
"Damn  you,  take  that!"  But  the  young  lawyer  quickly 
stepped  aside,  and  the  blow  went  wild.  But  with  an  even 
greater  fury  the  Doctor  made  another  lunge,  this  time  with 
better  success.  The  young  lawyer  partially  warded  off  the 
blow,  but  only  in  part.  His  vision  suddenly  was  blurred, 
and  he  felt  a  trickle  of  blood  running  down  his  cheek. 

The  rugged  form  of  Amsden  Armentrout  dashed  in 
between  them. 

"Wat's  a'  this  foos  aboot?"  he  thundered. 

The  Doctor  glared  at  the  burly  Abolitionist  with  the  rage 
of  a  lion  blazing,  terribly,  in  his  eyes. 

"Yuh  need  no  stah  ut  meh  'at  wy.  Ah  wan'  yuh  t'  ken 
thet  ane  man's  no  skeered  o'  ye  e'en  gin  ye're  uh  damn'  Kain- 
tuck'un.  Air  ye  no  'shamed  o'  yersel' — coom  oop  tae  Simon- 
son's  orfus  'n*  troiy  yo'  damndus'  t'  muhduh  'im;  un  unly 
las'  nicht  'e  wuz  bravin'  a'  th'  deils  in  hell  tae  save  yir  orn'ry 
hoid.  Yuh  wan'  tae  ken  whah  HahrT  is,  un  Ah  ken — 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW        191 

mair'n  'at,  Ah'm  michty  gled  t'  tull  yuh.  Ah'm  no  feard 
uh  huhtin'  yo'  feelin's,  V  Ah'm  nae  feard  o'  yo'.  Yist'day 
HahrT  wes  en  ma  shop,  un  ez  'e  raid  uh  paipuh  Ah  haird  'im 
saiyin',  sortuh  tae  himsel' :  'Ah've  gat  tae  dae  ut !  Ah've 
gat  tae  dae  ut !'  Ut  thet  'e  flang  th'  paipuh  doon  'n'  gaed  oot 
— un  ye'd  hae  thocht  'e  wes  foutin'  med,  'e  wes  thut  warked 
oop;  thoo  naebody'd  sed  uh  ward,  uh  coontrahried  'im  en 
onywy.  Boot  ez  'e  mosied  oot  Ah  seed  'im  cleench  'iz  fis', 
un  haird  'im  sortuh  hef-whuspuh,  fearce-lak,  'Ah'll  dae  ut 
tae-nicht,  uvun  gin  ut  rains  hell-fiah  'n'  brumstane.'  Un 
w'en  'e  gaed  oot  Ah  pucked  oop  th'  paipuh  hu'd  ben  raidin'. 
Et  wusna  muckle  biggeh'n  yo'  twa  hen's.  Et  wes  Lincoln's 
'Ca'  fuh  Vol'nteehs'  tae  gae'n  put  doon  thuz  damn'  Rubul- 
lyon.  Un  Har'l'  gane  tae  jine  thae  Unyun  airmeh,  'n'  t'  hep 
shoot  hell  oot  o'  yo'  Cozzun  JaifFs  'tahnal  Suth'rn  'Fud'r'cy 
— un  Ah  honuh  'im  fuh  it.  Hoo  dive  ye  lak  thet?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  and  Dr.  Culpepper  turned  to 
the  young  lawyer  for  denial  or  affirmation,  confident  that 
he  knew. 

The  young  lawyer  nodded  affirmation  as  the  blacksmith 
roared,  "Yus,  an'  Ah  thank  Gude  Ah  hed  uh  han'  in 
sendin'  'im!" 

Just  how  it  was  done  the  young  lawyer  never  knew ;  but 
in  a  moment  the  blacksmith  was  lying  prone  on  the  floor, 
unconscious,  eyes  open  and  staring,  while  the  side  of  his 
head,  dark  purple  and  already  clotted  with  blood,  seemed  to 
be  crushed  to  pulp.  A  heavy  iron  poker,  yet  in  the  Doctor's 
hand,  proclaimed  the  instrument  that  had  oeen  used. 

All  the  Doctor's  wrath  was  spent.  Awe-stricken,  he  said, 
"Great  God,  Simonson!  Have  I  killed  Amsden,  my  good 
old  neighbor?  Let  me  examine  him." 

"No,  Dr.  Culpepper — go!  Send  Dr.  Boynton — he's  your 
friend,  isn't  he?" 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?     It  will  kill 


193  AMERICANS  ALL 

Mother  if  you  have  me  arrested  and  locked  up — and  just 
now  that  Harold's  gone." 

"Have  no  fear,  Doctor.  The  provocation  was  great.  I'm 
sorry  for  you.  Get  out!  Get  Dr.  Boynton  here  quickly  as 
possible." 

A  careful  examination  revealed  that  the  blacksmith  was 
seriously,  though  not  necessarily  fatally,  hurt.  He  was 
quietly  removed  to  the  room  at  the  rear  of  his  shop,  and  the 
Odd  Fellows  promptly  sent  a  fellow-member  to  take  care 
of  him. 

After  putting  the  room  in  order  the  young  lawyer  went 
across  to  Dornblazer  &  Russell's  drug  store  for  a  little  arnica 
and  a  bit  of  court-plaster.  It  had  been  more  than  an  hour 
since  the  encounter  and  his  face  was  swollen  and  beginning 
to  hurt.  When  he  returned  Vergie,  to  his  surprise,  and  a 
measure  of  mortification  on  account  of  his  slight  disfigure 
ment,  was  waiting  for  him.  As  he  entered  she  said : 

"See  the  conquering  hero  comes !"  She  did  not  rise ;  and 
he  observed  that  her  face  was  stern,  and  her  voice  harsh. 
Wishing,  however,  to  be  agreeable,  he  replied: 

"I  am  honored  by  your  presence,  Miss  Culpepper." 

"I  do  not  covet  the  honor,  Mr.  Simonson,"  she  replied 
coldly,  "but  I'm  glad  I  came  even  though  to  do  so  I  had  to 
disobey  my  revered  father." 

"What  can  she  mean?"  the  young  lawyer  said  to  himself. 
"Innocent  of  any  wrong,  I  am — why  should  I  be  flaunted 
in  this  manner  ?"  Then  a  great  feeling  of  pity  and  compas 
sion  came  over  him.  She  was  sick — even  yet.  Her  hands 
were  thin,  and  her  countenance  was  exceedingly  pale.  And 
she  was  sorrowful.  Harold — comrade,  playfellow,  only 
brother — was  gone,  where  she  did  not  know.  Her  mother 
was  in  declining  health;  he  knew  they  were  alarmed  about 
her  condition.  Their  constant  peril,  too,  from  mob  violence ; 
they  must  be  constantly  anxious.  He  knew  they  feared  the 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW        193 

head  of  the  family  would  be  assassinated.  Now  on  his  long 
and  fatiguing  professional  drives  they  never  suffered  him 
to  go  alone.  He  thought  of  all  the  beautiful  things  Harold 
had  said  about  his  sister;  how,  in  a  manner,  he  had  com 
mitted  her  to  his  care.  Almost  his  last  speech  had  been 
about  Vergie,  indirectly  appealing  to  him  to  watch  over  her 
and  shield  her  from  harm.  A  certain  mesmeric  influence, 
emanating  from  her  person,  was  stealing  over  him  and  he 
gladly  yielded  himself  to  the  spell.  Finally  she  broke  the 
silence. 

"Mr.  Simonson,  you  know  better  than  we  do  that  my 
brother  is  gone — for  to  us,  even  yet,  it  seems  that,  presently, 
we  shall  wake  as  from  a  dreadful  dream  and,  after  all, 
happily  find  that  Harold  still  is  with  us.  It's  the  first  time 
he  ever  has  left  us,  except  when  he  went  away  to  college — 
and  that  was  hard  for  us  to  bear.  But  then  we  had  this  con 
solation:  we  knew  where  he  was;  that  he  was  with  high- 
minded,  honorable  people ;  that  he  was  always  receiving  the 
kindest  treatment,  and  had  everything  heart  could  wish  for 
save  our, presence,  and  the  happy  home  life  he  had  always 
known;  and  that  should  evil  befall  him,  or  sickness,  we 
would  be  instantly  notified  so  that  we  could  go  to  him,  or  he 
be  brought  to  us.  Mr.  Simonson,  I  know  you  are  not  deaf, 
but  can  you  understand  ?" 

"Only  in  part,  Miss  Culpepper,  and  even  that  part  imper 
fectly.  Such  a  home  as  your's  I  never  had ;  such  care  as  you 
describe  never  was  mine;  such  love  as  you  lavished  on 
brother  and  son  I  have  caught  glimpses  of  only  in  fairy 
tales.  You  know  who  my  parents  are.  They  never  seemed 
to  care  for  me.  Mine  has  been  a  cheerless  life.  Only  plenty 
of  hard  knocks  and  hardest  work — but  I  do  not  complain." 

Vergie's  face  was  a  study  while  the  young  lawyer  was 
speaking.  There  were  pity,  the  surge  of  the  mother-instinct, 


194  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  glow  of  a  sheltering  and  comforting  compassion — but 
she  fought  it  all  back. 

"Now  my  brother  is  gone  again,"  presently  she  resumed, 
"but  how  different  the  manner  of  his  going,  his  destination, 
the  purposes  actuating  him,  the  manner  of  his  new  life,  and 
his  unescapable  associations.  Oh,  I  do  not  doubt  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  sincerity,  or  the  sincerity  of  those  who  are  at-one 
with  him.  You  see  I  am  not  as — as  prejudiced  as  Papa. 
I  can  see,  too,  that  in  your  way  you  are  all  patriots.  In  that 
respect  you  see  we  are  broader  than  you  are.  You  patriotic 
ally  say,  'We  want  self-government  for  ourselves,'  and  we 
reply :  'All  right ;'  but  when  we,  none  the  less  patriotically, 
say,  'We  want  self-government  for  owrselves,'  you  answer: 
'All  wrong !'  But  let  that  pass. 

"If  brother  only  had  joined  the  Confederate  army — Oh, 
that  would  have  been  hard  for  us,  too,  but  we'd  have  con 
sented.  In  fact,  we  expected  that  he'd  do  sc  sooner  or  later. 

"But  to  think  that  our  boy,  our  only  boy,  should  be  in 
arms  against  Uncle  Jeff,  and  Robert  E.  Lee,  and  Stonewall 
Jackson,  and  the  grand  and  glorious  South — Oh,  isn't  it 
sweet  sometimes  just  to  hate,  hate,  hate?"  She  was  shaken 
with  the  violence  of  her  emotions  and  paused.  Presently — 

"Yes,  in  a  general  way  we  know  where  Harold's  gone,  to 
whom,  and  what  for:  to  espouse  the  Union  cause,  to  join 
Grant's  command  in  Missouri,  and  to  fight  against  our  own 
people.  Old  Amsden  Armentrout — Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  Papa 
struck  him !" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  as  if  to  shield 
her  eyes  from  some  horrible  sight;  when  she  removed  it 
he  saw  that  they  were  moist  with  tears. 

"But  who,  I  say,  has  turned  this  whole  community  against 
us  ?  Even  the  mob  was  shouting  for  Papa  not  long  ago ; 
last  night  they  had  only  hisses.  A  few  weeks  ago  they  would 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW        195 

have  crowned  him ;  now  they  would  crucify  him.  Who  has 
done  all  this  ?" 

She  was  now  gazing  at  the  young  lawyer  with  open  hatred, 
scorn,  loathing. 

"But  now  the  very  elect  are  against  us.  For  some  of  them 
we  do  not  care.  Their  enthusiastic  loyalty  to  our  great 
Cause  was  their  one  redeeming  virtue;  that  gone  there's 
nothing  left  but  hulks  of  repulsive  carrion,  such  as  weenty- 
teenty  Voey  Bijawey,  ugh!  And  Hank  Gordon,  ready  to 
barter  his  soul  for  another  term  in  the  postoffice.  And 
Professor  Henry  St.  George  Pinckney — St.  George,  for 
sooth  !  Slayer  of  dragons !  Why  he'd  faint  at  sight  of  an 
angle-worm.  Better  call  him  Saint  Sissie  Ann !  And  Uncle 
Ab  Wilcox — he's  got  sorghum  and  saleratus  to  sell  to  the 
Roundheads !  All  in  the  Abolition  band  wagon,  or  trying  to 
get  in.  How  I  despise  them!  There  are  some  people  not 
big  enough  to  hate,  like  the  primping,  prinking  Voey  Bija 
wey — they  hardly  amount  to  enough  to  despise. 

"But  how  could  such  a  staunch  gentleman  as  Bonnell 
Hogan  ever  so  defile  his  soul  ?  How  could  Hiram  Goldbeck 
publish  to  the  world  his  degradation?  And  of  all  men,  of 
all  men,  Judge  Gildersleeve,  and  Mrs.  Gildersleeve,  and  Fred, 
and — would  you  believe  it,  poor  Harold's  fiancee — Marjorie ! 
Have  we  Southerners  no  manhood  or  womanhood  left  ?  No 
principles ;  no  courage  ? 

"Have  the  Abolitionists  backed  down?  Not  one!  Have 
they  grown  fewer  by  defection?  No;  they  are  multiplying 
like — like  flies.  Are  they  timid  and  apologetic?  Brave  as 
lions,  every  one  of  them.  Look  at  John  R.  Noss !  Look  at 
Cornelius  Blavey !  Look  at  that  old  squint-eyed  Israel  Lef- 
fingwell !  I  hate  their  principles,  but  I  admire  them." 

In  her  contemplation  of  heroism,  and  eulogy  of  brave  men, 
her  face  had  lost  its  malevolence;  and  the  young  lawyer 
remembered  with  a  thrill  Harold's  tribute  to  his  sister.  "Ah, 


196  AMERICANS  ALL. 

yes,"  he  thought,  "she  has  a  great  soul — and  how  she  could 
love  a  man !" 

"Even  Amsden  Armentrout  I  respect.  He's  true,  thor 
ough,  genuine.  No  backing  down  on  his  part,  no  squeam- 
ishness  or  namby-pambying !  He'd  stand  by  his  guns  till 
his  last  enemy  or  comrade  was  dead,  then  butt  his  way  on 
to  victory  by  his  very  mule-headedness. 

"But  our  people — who  has  cunningly  deceived  them,  hood 
winked  them,  made  them  afraid  of  their  own  shadows, 
blindfolded  them  and  led  them  into  the  enemy's  camp  ?  Our 
editors,  teachers,  merchants,  bankers,  judges,  and  choicest 
young  people — who  has  seduced  them  all  ?" 

Vergie  paused.  The  fires  of  wrath  were  flinging  little 
javelins  of  flame  from  her  eyes,  and  her  breath  was  coming 
in  short,  excited  gasps. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  me,  sir?  Are  you  deaf?  Who 
has  posed  in  this  community  for  months  as  Innocence  Glori 
fied,  and  yet  by  day  and  by  night  has  been  busy  with  his 
despicable  work  until  the  Culpeppers  are  left  alone  to  suffer 
taunt  and  obloquy  and  threatened  violence  from  whiskey- 
crazed  mobs — who?" 

The  young  lawyer,  thoroughly  mystified,  could  only 
answer,  "I  don't  know." 

"Liar!"  she  hissed.  You  are  the  arch-hypocrite!  You 
are  the  villainous  Cataline!  You  are  the  debased  and 
depraved  Judas  Iscariot !  It  was  of  such  as  you  the  Irish 
poet  was  thinking  when  he  said : 

"  'Oh,  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slave 

Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight, 
Steals  o'er  the  councils  of  the  brave, 

And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might !'  " 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  stood  before  him  as  an 
accusing  angel,  beautiful  yet  terrible. 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW         197 

"Miss  Culpepper,"  the  young  lawyer  exclaimed,  "you  are 
beside  yourself  and  accuse  me  most  wrongfully.  You  cannot 
understand  how  you  are  thrusting  not  one  dagger  into  my 
heart  but  a  thousand.  Last  night  upon  my  return  to  your 
home — it  was  almost  midnight — and  I  saw  you " 

"Don't  mention  last  night,  sir."  She  was  now  blushing 
furiously.  "I  was  beside  myself  with — with  gratitude.  I  then 
thought  you  the  bravest,  truest,  noblest  of  men.  I  would 
have  trusted  my  honor,  my  very  life,  to  your  keeping.  As 
vestal  virgins  welcomed  the  Caesars  back  to  Rome,  when 
they  returned  victorious,  so  deep  down  into  the  night  I 
waited  to  welcome  you,  and  to  hear  from  your  own  lips  the 
story  of  your  prowess.  With  vestal  like  innocence  I  wel 
comed  you  to  my  room — when  was  maiden  ever  as  trustful 
as  I  ?  Yes,  joyfully  welcomed  you  in  my  lingerie  de  nuit — a 
robe  of  silken  filament,  my  falling  tresses,  and  my  innocence. 
And  by  my  very  trust  in  you,  and  in  the  same  high,  deep 
measure,  now  I  hate  you." 

"But,  Miss  Culpepper,  I  vow,  I  swear,  I  am  innocent  of 
anything,  of  everything,  you  affirm." 

"Don't,  please !  You're  base  enough  already.  Don't  add 
perjury  and  blasphemy  to  hypocrisy.  You  deny  everything 
— everything  I  allege  ?" 

"Most  emphatically!"  the  young  lawyer  replied. 

"Then  what  do  you  say  of  this?  What  explanation  do 
you  offer?"  She  pointed  to  the  Lincoln  telegram. 

"In  deep  sorrow  on  Harold's  account,  and  wrath  against 
those  who  had  led  him  astray — but  with  only  reverence  for 
you — I  came  to  your  office  an  hour  ago.  You  were  out  and 
I  sat  down  to  wait  till  you  returned.  Before  me  on  the  table 
lay  this  telegram,  open  and  spread  out,  thus.  I  could  not 
refrain  from  reading  it  without  closing  my  eyes.  A  gust  of 
wind  blew  it  from  the  table  to  my  lap.  I  said,  'It  is  meant 
for  me,  else  it  would  not  have  come  to  my  hands  without 


198  AMERICANS  ALL 

my  bidding.'  You  have  nothing  to  say,  I  see.  There's  noth 
ing  you  can  say.  It  is  sufficient.  My  errand's  done ;  I  have 
the  information  for  which  I  came."  She  started  toward 
the  door. 

"But  Miss  Culpepper " 

"Don't  detain  me.  I  must  return  home  lo  comfort  my 
mother,  and  to  tell  Father  just  who  and  what  you  are.  He'll 
be  truly  edified." 

"And  am  I  to  see  no  more  of  you?"  The  young  lawyer's 
voice  was  eloquent  with  pathos,  throbbed  with  a  world  of 
yearning.  Harold  had  said,  "Everybody  finally  has  to  give 
in  to  Vergie,"  and,  for  the  moment,  the  young  lawyer  was 
glad  of  it ;  and,  for  a  fleeting  instant,  Vergie  trembled  under 
the  spell  of  the  yearning  she  herself  had  felt  the  night  before 
— then  mastered  herself. 

Then  with  that  deep  diapason  voice,  which  all  regnant 
spirits  seem  to  possess,  she  said:  "Felix  Palfrey  asked  me 
the  same  question,  Mr.  Simonson,  and  I  said,  'Never;'  and 
there's  no  provision  in  heaven  or  earth  for  the  reversal  of 
that  decree,  for  it  is  irreversible ;  and  I  now  repeat  it  to  you, 
but  with  that  greater  emphasis  born  of  my  loathing  and 
detestation  of  the  baser  part  you  have  played  in  our  cruel 
drama." 

The  young  lawyer  knew  that,  despite  his  utter  innocence, 
he  was  powerless  to  make  any  adequate  defence,  then  knew 
that  Vergie  Culpepper  was  gone,  though  the  echoes  of  her 
cruel  and  remorseless  verdict  even  yet  seemed  to  hover  in 
the  air;  gone  without  a  touch  of  hands,  such  as  usually  is 
vouchsafed  even  to  the  erring  dead ;  with  no  word  of  fare 
well  to  remember ;  only  flinging  back,  contemptuously,  a  look 
of  mingled  loathing  and  defiance  that  might  well  have  awed 
the  stoutest  heart,  yet  startlingly  beautiful  and  passionate — 
that  dazzling,  intoxicating  beauty  that  appeals  to  the  senses 
and  renders  men,  in  their  mad  endeavor  to  possess  it,  oblivious 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THK  JMKW  199 

to  all  the  normal  connections  and  conventions  of  life,  men's 
approval  or  disapproval,  earth's  gain  or  loss,  eternal  weal  or 
woe;  and  which,  once  won,  exalts  the  possessor  to  what 
he  deems  a  heaven  of  privilege;  but  once  lost  plunges  him 
to  irreparable  ruin. 

It  came  to  him:  Vergie  Culpepper  was  the  Incarnation 
of  the  Old  South,  famed  in  song  and  story ;  she  was  the  Old 
South,  brave,  fearless,  red-lipped,  eagle-eyed,  high-souled, 
passionate,  imperious,  glorious ;  to  be  feared  because  she  was 
so  willful  and  audacious,  yet,  in  her  gentler  moods,  worthy 
of  all  love,  and,  by  the  sheer  force  of  her  loveliness,  com 
pelling  all  homage  and  adoration — such  a  woman  as  Marc 
Antony  would  have  loved,  or  Hannibal,  or  Charlemagne,  or 
Cromwell,  or  Napoleon. 

"Marjorie" — abruptly  he  turned  to  the  window — was  it 
telepathy?  She  was  coming  across  the  street  to  the  offices 
occupied  by  himself  and  her  father — had  her  thought  of  him 
hurried  on  ahead  to  apprise  him  of  her  coming?  She  paused 
a  moment  on  the  curbing,  poised  graceful  as  a  bird,  the  sun 
shooting  javelins  of  flame  through  her  golden  hair;  the 
bracing  October  air  imparting  a  heavenly  glow  to  her  face ; 
sweetly,  cheerily  greeting  the  passers-by;  turning  back  a 
moment  to  address  a  few  heartfelt  words  of  consolation  to 
a  young  mother  who  had  buried  her  first-born  babe  the  day 
before;  then  lightly  tripped  across  the  street  and  up  the 
stairs. 

She  wanted  a  book,  or  so  she  said — and  it  is  never  good 
form  to  dispute  a  lady's  word,  especially  if  she  be  young  and 
beautiful. 

"And  oh,  Mr.  Simonson,"  as  she  searched  among  the 
unlikeliest  shelves  for  the  book  she  really  must  have,  and 
with  amazing  leisureliness  considering  that  she  was  in  such 
a  hurry,  "what  do  you  think?  Vergie,  our  own  beautiful 
Vergie,  won't  speak  to  me.  I  met  her  only  a  moment  ago 


200  AMERICANS  ALL 

down  on  the  street  and  she  actually  spurned  me.  And  the 
dear  old  Doctor  had  it  out  with  Papa  this  morning.  Yes. 
'Quoth  Horace'  and  all,"  with  a  grave  smile  in  which  there 
was  no  hint  of  wrath  or  malice — only  deep  pity  and  regret. 
"Yes,  as  soon  as  Papa  went  to  the  door — we  were  at  break 
fast  and  Dr.  Culpepper  sent  word  by  Hepzibah  that  he'd  'be 
damned  if  he  ever  crossed  the  portals  of  The  Maples  again' — 
the  Doctor  furiously  began  by  saying,  'Quoth  Horace, 
*'Quanta  funera  moves  Dardanae  genti  ?'  whatever  that  may 
mean.  Oh,  if  it  hadn't  been  so  terrible  it  would  have  been 
awfully  funny.  And  it  hurt  Papa  dreadfully,  too,  to  be  so 
cruelly  and  unjustly  accused.  But  Papa — Oh,  I  never  was 
as  proud  of  him  as  I  was  this  morning ! — never  for  a  moment 
forgot  his — what  do  you  call  it? — 'judicial  poise,'"  with  a 
roguish  glance  and  the  slightest  trill  of  comrady  laughter. 
"And  when  the  Doctor  was  all  through,  having  accused 
Papa  of  almost  every  mean  thing  under  the  sun,  Papa  only 
bowed,  oh,  his  courtliest  bow,  and  said : 

"  'Dr.  Culpepper,  for  many  years  you  and  I  have  been 
friends.  We  are  both  Southerners — you  a  Kentuckian,  I  a 
Virginian.  The  day  was  when  I  would  have  killed  you  for 
what  you  have  just  said  to  me — yes,  for  yery  much  less.  And 
even  now  I  refrain  from  doing  so,  not  from  lack  of  indigna 
tion,  but  from  self-respect — so  strong  is  the  force  of  heredity 
and  early  training.  For  your  early  training  and  mine  was 
feudal,  mediaeval,  of  an  age  that  boasted  serfs  and  slaves  and 
retainers.  Thank  God,  that  era  is  passing  and  a  new  and 
nobler  era  is  dawning,  the  era  of  men,  unshackled  and 
unhampered,  and  of  manhood,  unsullied  and  irreproachable. 
Indeed,  we  are  living  in  a  new  dispensation.' 

"And  you  know  how  tremendously  impressive  Papa  is 
when  he  is  deeply  moved.  Quoth  Horace  heard  Papa 


What  carnage  art  thou  bringing  on  the  Dardan  nation? 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW         201 

through  all  right — guess  he  was  afraid  if  he  didn't  Papa 
might  forget  all  about  the  change  of  dispensations  and  inad 
vertently  kill  him,  to  the  everlasting  scandal  of  the — new 
order.  But  as  soon  as  Papa  was  through  the  Horatian 
Doctor  calmly  inquired  if  he  could  see  the  rest  of  the  family, 
'just  the  fraction  of  a  minute,'  at  the  door. 

"Evidently  Papa  was  on  his  good  behavior,  so  we  were 
summoned,  Mama  and  Fred  from  the  dining  room,  and  I 
from  behind  a  curtain,  an  arm's  length,  'as  a  crow  flies,' 
though  I  made  a  circuit  of  three  rooms  and  came  in  behind 
Mama  and  Fred,  oh,  so  innocently  and  demurely. 

"  'Elizabeth' — that's  Mama's  name,  you  know — 'do  you 
approve  of  Edmund's  course?'  Oh,  Mama  was  Mrs.  Daniel 
come  to  judgment,  sure  enough!  But  Mama — you  know 
what  a  dear  she  is — quietly  replied,  'We  Southern  wives  take 
wifehood  seriously,  Dr.  Culpepper.  Whatever  Edmund  does 
always  meets  with  my  hearty  approval ;  but  in  this  casa  espe 
cially  so  because  I  know  he's  right.' 

"  'Stand  aside !'  No,  Dr.  Culpepper  didn't  say  it — he  only 
looked  it. 

"Then  it  was  Fred's  turn,  and  you  know  what  a  cut-up  he 
is.  And  Papa  had  to  reprove  him. 

"Then  it  came  my  turn,  and  I  was  'skeered.'  You  see  he 
felt  he  had  the  right  to  deal  with  me  as  a  member  of  the 
family,"  she  continued,  speaking  evenly,  though  there  was  a 
vague  remonstrance  in  her  voice.  "And  what  do  you  sup 
pose  I  was  guilty  of?  'Blest  if  I  know/  as  Fred  says,  for 
I  don't  know  anything  about  his  old  Horace — do  you,  Mr. 
Simonson  ?  Besides  it  isn't  fair  to  pitch  into  a  girl  when  she 
doesn't  know  what  you're  talking  about — what  do  you  call 
it  in  law?  'An  indictment  in  an  unknown  tongue?'  Well, 
he  put  it  squarely  up  to  me,  though  I  didn't  understand  a 
word  of  it ;  and  neither  did  Mama  or  Fred,  though  I  guess 
Papa  did.  I  was  afraid  the  folks  would  think  I'd  done 


202  AMERICANS  ALL 

something  awfully  bad.  Well,  he  said,  'Die  Lydia' — no,  that 
isn't  all  he  said.  But,  Mr.  Simonson — and  now  her  voice  was 
full  of  laughter,  and  her  eyes  and  dimples  were  bubbling  over 
with  innocent  mirth,  "who  is  'Die  Lydia'?  Is  he  a  lady,  or 
is  she  a  man,  or  is  it  all  one  person?" 

With  all  his  troubles  the  young  lawyer  couldn't  refrain 
from  laughter. 

"Please  don't  make  fun  of  a  poor  little  girl  in  distress!" 
she  cried,  with  an  excruciating  grimace,  and  attempt  at  sober 
rebuke  and  entreaty. 

"Well,  no  matter  whether  he's  she,  or  she's  he,  or  both 
are  one  and  the  same  person,  he  went  right  on  and  boldly 
affirmed  that  x'Dic  Lydia,  per  omnes  decs,  oro  te,  cur 
properas  perdere  Sybarin  amando  ?'  And  who  was  Amando, 
which,  I  suppose,  is  the  Latin  for  Amandy — was  she  Die 
Lydia's  wife,  or  Mr.  Lydia's  sister?  Why  don't  you  tell  me, 
Mr.  Simonson?  Well,  then  he  went  on  to  say  that  I  was 
2'perfusus  liquidis  odoribus' — does  that  mean  that  I  refuse  to 
take  liquid  baths,  as  he's  always  preaching  everybody  should  ? 
or  that  when  I  bathe  I  persist  in  putting  a  whole  lot  o'  things 
like  sulphur  and  asafoetida,  an'  sich  like,  in  the  water,  thus 
making  it  odorous?  And  then  he  spoke  of  my  8'flavam 
comam,'  some  old  medical  term,  I  guess.  Anyhow  I  reckon 
every  girl's  got  one,  whatever  it  is;  Oh,  yes,  and  very 
emphatically  he  brought  out  4'religas,'  and  for  the  first  time 
I  understood  him.  So  I  said,  'Yes,  a  Methodist.'  And  you 
should  have  heard  him  'snort,'  as  Fred  says.  Guess  it  was 
because  he's  such  a  strong  Episcopalian.  Then  he  said  that 
they  had  all  regarded  me  as  being  5<aurea.'  And  proud  that 


iTell  me,  Lydia,  by  all  the  gods,  I  entreat  thee,  why  dost  thou 
hasten  to  ruin  Sybaris  by  thy  love? 
2Bedewed  with  liquid  perfume. 
3Thy  golden  hair. 
«Braid. 
5A11  golden. 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW         203 

I  was  able  to  understand  him  again  I  bowed  and  replied, 
'excellent,'  for  of  course  he  was  referring  to  my  hearing. 
You  know  several  of  their  kinfolks  are  as  deat  as  door-posts, 
and  they've  a  terrible  horror  of  anybody  that's  deef.  And 
finally  I  got  tired  of  it  all  and  said,  'Dr.  Culpepper,  please 
don't  say  any  more  now.  The  pancakes  are  getting  cold, 
and  we've  got  real  pork  sausage  for  breakfast  this  morning 
for  the  first  time  this  fall,  an  sec  brik-fas'  he  ged — ah,  ver' 
col',  oid,  oui!'  And  Mama  said,  'Why  Marjorie!'  And 
Papa  said,  'What  do  you  mean,  you  little  hussy  ?  I'll  thrash 
you  for  that  if  it's  the  last  act  of  my  life.'  And  I  said,  'Oui, 
oui,  Fath-azV^/'  And  then  they  all  laughed.  Then  I  tolcf 
Dr.  Culpepper  that  I  thought  just  as  Father  thought,  and 
Mama,  and  Fred,  and — Mr.  Simonson. 

"Then  Papa  made,  what  do  you  call  it?  Oh,  yes,  the 
closing  argument ;  and  I  tell  you  it  was  mighty  solemn.  It 
was  all  about  liberty,  and  equality,  and  mercy,  and  standing 
by  the  Union,  and  broader  interpretations  of  the  Constitu 
tion,  and  some  Amendments  that  ought  to  be  made,  and  all 
that." 

"In  conclusion  Papa  said:  'Dr.  Culpepper,  we  all  some 
times  say  and  do  things  which  afterward  we  regret,  and 
wish  we  could  forget.  Perhaps  we  can  never  undo  or  for 
get,  but  we  can  forgive.  I'm  sure  you'll  regret  what  you've 
said  and  done  this  morning,  and  I'm  equally  certain  you'll 
never  be  able  to  forget  it.  Hence  I  wish  to  say  to  you  now, 
for  my  own  comfort  quite  as  much  as  your's,  that  I  bear  you 
no  ill  feeling — it  is  all  forgiven.  I  will  now  bid  you  good 
morning.'  And  with  the  grave  courtesy  of  a  gentleman  of 
the  old  school  Papa  bowed,  and  we  went  back  to  breakfast, 
and  Quoth  Horace  slowly  wended  his  way  back  to  town." 

Marjorie,  having  concluded  her  narrative,  sat  gazing  out 
at  the  window.  There  was  a  shower  of  golden  leaves,  for 
the  wind  had  risen ;  but  the  October  sun  was  shining  bril- 


204  AMERICANS  ALL 

liantly.  The  sky  was  very  blue,  with  here  and  there  a  cloud 
of  snowy  whiteness.  A  cricket  was  chirping  somewhere, 
and  a  couple  of  martins  on  the  bough  of  a  maple  tree  seemed 
to  be  farewelling.  It  was  silent  in  the  room,  what  someone 
has  called  the  silence  audible. 

"Marjorie."  The  young  lawyer's  voice  was  strangely 
unnatural.  It  had  been  difficult  for  him  to  speak  at  all. 

"Yes?"  Her  voice,  too,  was  depressed.  It  had  lost  all  the 
lilt,  the  insouciance,  of  the  previous  moment.  To  him  she 
seemed  afar  off. 

"Yes?"  A  second  time  she  answered,  and  now  turned  her 
face  toward  him.  The  damask  of  her  cheeks  had  paled  to 
alabaster,  but  her  eyes  were  supernaturally  bright.  Her 
lips  were  slightly  drooping,  whether  from  grief  or  pain  he 
could  not  tell,  and  her  body  was  rigid. 

"You  have  come  to  tell  me  that  though  a  certain  act  of 
mine  cannot  be  undone  or  forgotten  you  are  willing  to 
forgive — oh,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  thankful  I  am." 

"I  forgive  you?"  she  exclaimed.  "No,  'tis  I  come  to  you 
begging  forgiveness.  I  did  you  a  grievous  wrong,  You 
were  our  guest ;  I  followed  you  to  the  door ;  after  you  had 
said  good-night  I  refused  to  dismiss  you ;  I  lingered ;  with 
my  eyes  I — Oh,  I  know  what  I  did,  and  I " 

"You  regret  it,  Marjorie?"  His  voice  was  tense.  "You 
regret  it?" 

"Oh — only  for  your  sake.  D — do  you  regret  it,  Mr. 
S — Simonson  ?" 

"Only  for  your  sake,  Miss  Marjorie."  He  arose  and 
started  to  her,  but  she  was  instantly  on  her  feet.  "Harold !" 
She  was  confused,  but  he  understood  her  meaning  and  pur 
pose.  The  warning  was  sufficient. 

"We  are  mutually  forgiven,  Mr.  Simonson,  and  I  am  so 
thankful.  Now  let  everything  remain  just  as  it  was  when 
we  first  met." 

\ 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW        205 

"But  are  we  no  nearer  to  each  other?  Why  this  call,  the 
drift  of  your  conversation,  the  question  you  asked?  Has 
there  been  no  purpose  in  it  all  ?" 

"Does  forgiveness  mean  nothing  to  you,  dear  boy?  Has 
peace  of  mind  no  value?  Is  it  not  worth  seeking,  asking 
for?"  Her  voice  was  infinitely  tender,  and  her  face  was 
very  wistful.  She  continued: 

"Yes,  I  had  another  'purpose/  as  you  call  it.  I  did  not 
want  what  I — I  did — t-that  night  to  stand  between  you  and 
Vergie,  and  so "  * 

"But,  Miss  Marjorie,  how " 


"You  know,  Mr.  Simonson,  I  belong  to  Harold,  and- 


"Hear  me,  Miss  Marjorie,  just  a  minute!  Is  there  not 
some " 

"Please,  Mr.  Simonson,  you  know  how  sacredly  we  South 
ern  girls  keep  our  vows.  You  wouldn't  have  me  be  untrue  to 
mine." 

He  would  have  said  more  but  speech  failed  him.  He  was 
silent,  not  from  lack  of  feeling,  but  from  excess  of  it.  Be 
sides,  the  strongest  language  hath  no  words  at  all — the 
eloquence  of  eyes  and  lips  a-quiver  when  articulate  speech 
is  inadequate,  or  forbidden.  It  even  creates  an  atmosphere 
and  telepathically  wings  its  message  when  all  written  and 
oral  messages  are  gainsaid.  Of  all  this  Marjorie  was 
intensely  conscious;  moreover  there  were  emotions  in  her 
own  heart  that  clamored  for  utterance — feelings  that  craved 
expression.  She  had  to  exercise  self-control  to  the  utmost 
to  maintain  her  outward  serenity. 

"Mr.  Simonson" — her  voice  was  low  and  measured — 
"there  can  be  no  happiness  in  dishonor;  you  must  go  your 
way,  and  I,  mine.  You  understand  my  meaning.  God  will 
help  us  and,  with  His  help,  we  cannot  fail.  Never  again 
will  Vergie  speak  to  me,  not  even  after  I  have  become  her 
brother's  wife — I  know  the  proud,  haughty,  invincible  spirit 


206  AMERICANS  ALL 

that  dominates  that  house ;  but  I  prove  my  love  and  loyalty 
to  her  by  bequeathing  to  her  my  dearest  friend.  Vergie  is 
wonderfully  beautiful,  accomplished,  vital — all  that  men 
admire  and  desire.  Once  won,  she  will  be  loyal  to  you  to 
the  last.  How  fond  she  is  of  you  I  do  not  know,  but  I  do 
know  you  will  be  a  welcome  suitor ;  and  something  tells  me 
you  will  not  be  unsuccessful  in  your  quest.  And — I  want 
you  to  be  happy ;  indeed,  though  I  hesitate  to  say  it  lest  you 
disbelieve  or  misunderstand  me,  I  am  more  prayerfully  con 
cerned  for  your  happiness  than  I  am  for  my  own.  Not  that 
my  happiness  is  assured,  but — well,  women  can  endure  more 
suffering  than  men,  have  a  greater  capacity  for  pain.  And — 
please  do  not  regard  this  as  cant,  or  the  sentimentalism  of 
the  lachrymose  maiden — I  shall  always  pray  for  you ;  nor 
can  you  get  beyond  the  loving  care  of  Him  to  whom  I  shall 
daily  and  nightly  bear  petitions  in  your  behalf ;  nor  can  aught 
of  peril  or  disaster  ever  befall  you  but  I  shall  be  with  you, 
possibly  never  in  person,  but  ahvays  in  sympathy,  in  loyalty 
of  faith  in  you,  in  supplication  to  the  Heavenly  Father  for 
you.  If  I  have  said  too  much,  or  been  over-bold — forgive 
me!  Now  I  must  go.  How  sweet  it  has  been  to  have  this 
hour  with  you  alone,  in  your  and  Papa's  office,  with  every 
body  at  court,  and  no  one  to  disturb  us.  And  do  you  know, 
dear  boy,  it  was  in  this  very  room  I  first  saw  you,  and  heard 
the  sound  of  your  voice,  and  began  to— to  like  you  ?  Good 
bye."  She  was  now  laughing  gaily,  though  tears  were  in  her 
eyes.  "And,"  taking  both  of  his  hands  in  hers,  "remember, 
I  shall  always  be  on  your  side !" 

At  the  door  she  waved  her  hand  and,  like  a  radiant  sun 
beam,  lingered  a  moment,  then  rapidly  descended  the  steps  to 
the  street  and  disappeared,  leaving  behind  a  something  that 
filled  all  the  room — all  that  Vergie  had  suggested  of  passion, 
swift-winged,  strong-limbed,  imperious,  yet  with  something 
spiritual,  heavenly,  eternal,  added  thereto. 


THE  OLD  SOUTH  AND  THE  NEW         207 

As  when  the  master-musician  sweeps  the  lyre  the  silences 
laugh  and  clap  their  hands  for  joy,  so  all  the  deeps  of  the 
young  lawyer's  soul  were  thrilled  to  ecstasy  at  the  magic  of 
a  name,  a  face,  a  voice.  Marjorie — The  New  South;  all 
passionate,  yet  all  spiritual ;  all  demanding,  yet  at  the  sign  of 
the  Cross  all  yielding;  vestal  in  purity,  yet  raptured  ai 
thought  of  nuptial  love ;  brave  as  fiercest  lion  in  the  jungle, 
yet  gentle  as  lowliest  lambkin  in  the  sheep  fold ;  on  occasion 
solemn  as  a  priestess,  yet  in  lighter  moods  playful  as  a  prin 
cess  ;  when  duty  calls  as  stately  as  a  goddess,  naught  of  toil 
or  care  remitting,  yet  duty  done  again  the  winsome  sweet 
heart,  no  dear  delight  of  earth  denying.  Marjorie — such  as 
she  Sir  Philip  Sidney  would  have  loved,  and  Sir  Galahad, 
and  Tancred  the  Crusader,  and  Dante  the  Tuscan  poet,  and 
Saul  of  Tarsus,  who  sang  the  most  wondrous  love-sonnet 
ever  breathed  by  soul  of  man.  Marjorie — The  New  South. 

When  Judge  Gildersleeve  came  in  from  court  a  few  min 
utes  later,  and  saw  the  young  lawyer,  he  exclaimed,  "Why, 
Sammy,  from  the  way  you  look  you  must  have  seen  a 
ghost." 

''No,  Judge  Gildersleeve,  'twas  an  Angel!"  the  young  man 
replied. 

The  Judge  gave  the  young  lawyer  a  quick,  keen,  searching 
glance,  then  held  his  peace.  He,  too,  had  seen  an  Angel 
once,  and  remembered. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  YOUNG  LAWYER  LINCOLN^  GUEST  AT  WASHINGTON 

OH,  I  will  turn  back,  I  must  turn  back  to  the  girl 
I  left  behind  me; 

Oh,  that  girl,  that  girl,  that  pretty  little  girl,  the  girl  I  left 
behind  me." 

This  was  the  refrain  of  a  popular  song  of  the  day,  with  a 
lilting,  haunting  air,  that  had  become  mentally  and  spiritu 
ally  contagious. 

Thousands  of  young  men  were  leaving  their  homes  for 
the  perils  and  vicissitudes  of  war  and  it  afforded  them  a 
vehicle  for  the  expression  of  their  emotions.  Too,  it  fitted 
well  the  passion  of  patriotism  and  was  at  once  an  inspiration 
to  battle  nobly  for  the  right,  and  a  reminder  of  the  loving 
hearts  at  home  that  were  holding  them  in  fond  remembrance 
and  eagerly  waiting  to  grant  them  the  fruition  that  war  for 
a  season  had  denied  them.  Moreover  their  fidelity  to  country 
gave  validity  to  other  vows;  for  if  they  were  ready  to  die 
for  their  country,  how  much  more  readily  would  they  lay 
down  their  lives  for  the  wives  and  sweethearts  whom  they 
had  left  in  the  awed  cities  and  quiet  countrysides  of  the  far 
away  North?  And  so  every  passing  breeze,  and  even  the 
night  silences,  seemed  to  throb  with  the  passionate  strain : 

"That  girl,  that  girl,  that  pretty  little  girl " 

The  hurrying  tram  would  h&rdlv  emerge  from  its  cadencas 
at  one  station  beiore  it  would  encounter  it  again  at  ti?^ 

208 


THE   YOUNG  LAWYER  209 

next,  for  at  every  station  the  flower  of  its  manhood  were 
hurrying  to  the  theater  of  war. 

Of  ardent  patriotism  there  was  no  lack.  Tears — ah,  there 
were  plenty  of  them ;  but  they  were  not  tears  of  entreaty  or 
dissuation.  Venerable  parents  were  cheerfully  giving  to  the 
Government  their  sole  stay  and  support ;  wives  were  proudly 
sending  their  husbands  to  fight  for  God,  and  Home,  and 
Native-Land ;  sisters  were  wreathing  their  departing  brothers 
with  garlands,  whether  for  victory  or  funeral  they  knew 
not,  only  proud  that  they  were  such  brave  and  worthy  men ; 
and  sweethearts  with  a  heavenly  love  they  no  longer  strove 
to  conceal  buckling  sword  and  sabre  with  their  own  fair,  soft 
hands,  and  bidding  their  trembling  but  unfearing  lovers  go 
and  battle  with  the  valor  of  heroes,  and  warning  them  not 
to  return  except  with  shields  triumphant,  or  borne  upon 
them.  Mother,  wife,  sister,  daughter,  sweetheart — they 
were  everywhere,  giving  the  last  kiss  and  embrace,  the  last 
loving  admonition,  the  last  little  token  of  remembrance, 
usually  a  small  pocket  Testament  with  a  handworked  book 
mark  and,  hid  somewhere  between  the  leaves,  a  lock  of  the 
giver's  hair,  waving  the  last  loving  farewell,  and — 

"Oh,  that  girl,  that  girl,  that  pretty  little  girl " 

On  the  train  segregation  and  propinquity  kindle  enthusi 
asm  to  a  yet  higher  strain.  Now  they're  off  to  war,  are 
soldiers  indeed,  and  the  most  slovenly  "stands  erect;  his 
slouch  becomes  a  walk,  he  steps  right  onward,  martial  in  his 
air,  his  form  and  movement."  Some  are  pale  and  thin — 
clerks,  accountants,  men  used  to  indoor  life — timid  and 
shrinking  they  seem,  but  "give  them  great  meals  of  beef,  and 
iron  and  steel;  they  will  eat  like  wolves,  and  fight  like 
devils."  The  talk  is  all  of  war,  and  they're  already  in  the 
full  swing  and  rhythm  of  easy  and  familiar  comradeship. 
They've  become  members  of  a  glorious  brotherhood  and 


210  AMERICANS  ALL 

with  a  sort  of  swagger,  both  ludicrous  and  delightful,  speak 
of  "good  old  Abe,"  and  "Little  Mac  the  cracker-jack,"  and 
"Cock-eyed  old  Ben  Butler,"  and  what  they'll  do  to  "Jeff 
Davis  and  his  blooming  Confederacy." 

So  the  talk  runs  on  and  on  till  at  last  the  shifting  scenes 
become  strange,  and  the  shadows  of  night  shut  them  in. 
Their  voices  sink  lower,  and  the  conversation  becomes  less 
martial.  A  feeling  of  loneliness  steals  over  them,  memories 
of  home  and  loved  ones  displace  their  former  thoughts  of 
siege  and  battle,  a  faint  touch  of  homesickness  deepens  the 
gloom,  and — 

"Oh,  that  girl,  that  girl,  that  pretty  little  girl " 

Amid  such  bustle  and  confusion,  blaring  bands  and  strident 
songs  of  love  and  patriotic  valor,  the  young  lawyer  jour 
neyed  to  Washington.  He  felt  reproached,  condemned,  deso 
late.  To  these  valiant  champions  of  the  Union  he  was  an 
alien.  They  seemed  separate  from  him  by  the  diameter  of 
the  Universe.  He  could  understand  them  but  they  couldn^ 
understand  him.  Of  all  the  young  soldiers  not  one  spoke  to 
him.  Why  should  they?  He  was  not  their  comrade;  he 
had  not  put  life  and  love  and  treasure  on  the  altar  as  they 
had  done.  He  felt  himself  barred  from  their  high  work  and 
destiny — almost  a  man  without  a  country.  Their  very  lan 
guage,  many  of  the  military  terms,  he  did  not  understand. 
They  related  the  military  history  of  men,  his  own  country 
men,  down  to  dates  and  minute  details,  with  which  he  was 
unfamiliar.  He  knew  all  about  the  Greek  arid  Persian  wars, 
the  wars  of  Rome  and  Carthage,  the  conflicts  of  France  and 
England,  Russia  and  Germany;  he  could  pass  instant  exam 
ination  on  their  methods  and  leaders ;  but  concerning  this 
war,  in  his  own  country  and  between  his  own  countrymen, 
ne  felt  himself  shamefully  ignorant.  He  was  a  college  man, 
lawyer,  traveler,  yet  these  young  men  from  shop  and  store 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER 

and  farm,  some  of  them  many  years  younger  than  himself, 
surpassed  him  in  knowledge  and  enthusiasm.  He  thought 
how  enviable  their  lot — sustained  by  a  great  purpose,  en 
gaged  in  a  noble  cause,  and  for  each  at  home  the  love  and 
prayers  of  the  woman  of  his  choice — while  for  him  there 
was  not  a  single  pleasant  reflection :  a  childhood  sordid  and 
depressing,  a  young  manhood  of  incessant  toil  and  privation, 
and,  finally,  of  the  two  women  for  whom  he  cared  and  might 
have  learned  to  love,  one  hated  him,  and  the  other  placed  an 
impassable  barrier  between  them.  But  it  is  always  darkest 
just  before  the  dawn. 

When  the  young  lawyer  the  following  day  reached  Wash 
ington  he  found  it  a  vast  military  camp,  soldiers,  soldiers 
everywhere,  soldiers  afoot,  soldiers  mounted,  sailors  armed 
and  uniformed  cap-a-pie.  The  flag  he  had  so  rarely  seen 
at  New  Richmond  was  always  in  sight,  while  martial 
music  added  to  the  pomp  and  blazonry  of  war.  Almost  in 
sight  and  sound  were  two  mighty  armies:  McClellan  168,318 
strong,  Johnston  150,000,  and  a  battle  was  daily  expected. 
Indeed,  the  President  was  entreating  McClellan  to  attack 
Johnston  at  once  and  try  conclusions  with  him. 

As  soon  as  possible  the  young  lawyer  secured  an  audience 
with  the  President.  It  was  at  the  White  House  after  the 
offices  were  closed  for  the  day. 

"Well,  Sammy,"  the  President  said  cheerily,  "I  see  you're 
not  yet  lost,  strayed,  or  stolen." 

"No,  Mr.  President,"  replied  the  young  lawyer,  returning 
the  President's  greeting.  "Had  I  strayed  or  been  lost  the 
good  people  of  Southern  Illinois  would  have  duly  returned 
me  to  my  place  of  abode ;  and  as  for  being  stolen — well,  you 
know  I  am  not  a  President  or  Prince-Royal,  and  so  I  stand 
in  no  peril  of  abduction." 

The  President  chuckled  softly  and  replied,  "Yes,  Sammy, 
every  position  has  its  drawbacks,  even  mine ;  and  come  folks 


212,  AMERICANS  ALL 

think  my  friends  down  South  would  like  to  abduct  me,  and 
add  me  to  their  menagerie,"  referring  to  the  epithet  "Gorilla" 
that  was  being  applied  to  him  by  many  Southern  news 
papers. 

It  pleased  the  young  lawyer  to  note  that  not  even  the 
recalcitration  of  McClellan,  the  bickerings  of  the  politicians, 
or  the  jealousies  of  Chase  and  Seward  had  robbed  Mr. 
Lincoln  of  his  cheerful  serenity,  or  his  abounding  good 
humor. 

Mr.  Lincoln  made  inquiry  regarding  many  of  his  old-time 
friends :  Fithian,  and  Linder,  and  Eden,  and  Marshall,  and 
Casey,  and  Tanner,  and  Pollock,  and  others,  some  of  them 
his  political  opponents,  but  with  whom  he  had  practiced  law ; 
pausing  occasionally  to  tell  a  funny  story  or  relate  a  humor 
ous  incident,  often  at  his  own  expense;  his  dark,  yellow, 
wrinkled  face  lighting  up,  his  small  dark-blue  eyes  dancing 
with  merriment,  and  his  voice,  naturally  shrill  and  piping, 
becoming  mellow  and  musical  with  good  humor. 

"And  now,  Sammy,  tell  me  about  New  Richmond. 
Dipend!  I  think  almost  as  often  of  New  Richmond  as  I 
do  of  that  other  Richmond,"  nodding  toward  Richmond, 
Virginia,  "and  I  guess  one's  about  as  secesh  as  the  other/' 
all  in  the  best  of  humor. 

The  young  lawyer  then  told  of  the  favor  with  which  Felix 
Palfrey  had  been  received  and  entertained,  the  boomerang 
against  the  Southern  Confederacy  his  machinations  had 
proved,  and  the  final  turn  of  the  tide  of  sentiment  toward 
Mr.  Lincoln  and  the  Union  Cause,  all  of  which  greatly 
interested  the  War-President. 

"The  people  of  Southern  Illinois,"  said  the  President,  "are 
most  amiable  and  lovable  and  their  very  weaknesses,  though 
sometimes  exceedingly  amusing,  often  possess  an  infinite 
charm.  A  man  like  Felix  Palfrey  would  especially  appeal 
to  them:  a  certain  foreign  distinction,  charming  Southern 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER  213 

manners,  an  accomplished  musician,  ability  to  converse  flu 
ently  in  several  languages,  familiarity  with  the  best  litera 
ture,  an  air  of  helplessness  and  confidingness  appealing  both 
to  their  charitable  judgment  and  chivalry,  themselves  always 
desiring  to  appear  well  and  with  an  abnormal  fear  of  expos 
ing  their  own  more  or  less  meager  attainments,  you  can  see 
how  easily  and  instantly  they  would  yield  to  his  lure;  but 
once  they  discover  that  they  have  been  duped  and  made  the 
butt  of  ridicule,  pride  and  self-esteem  fill  their  cup  of  indig 
nation  full  to  overflowing,  and  their  rage  and  demands  for 
redress  become  boundless.  I'll  tell  you,  Sammy,  it  was  a 
good  thing  'zee  leetl'  moon-key'  got  away  as  soon  and  safely 
as  he  did ;  if  they'd  got  hold  of  him  after  his  true  character 
was  discovered  more  than  likely  they'd  have  fed  him  to 
'zee — ah,  me-nag-e-n>/"J  He  was  especially  amused  at 
what  must  have  been  the  wrath  of  his  dear  old  friend,  true 
and  tried,  Amsden  Armentrout. 

The  turn  of  the  tide  of  public  sentiment  in  New  Richmond 
toward  the  Union  greatly  cheered  the  President,  though  the 
influence  of  such  men  as  Voe  Bijaw  and  Tutwiler  and  Sin 
gleton  he  allowed  wouldn't  amount  to  much  either  way. 
"However,"  he  added  philosophically,  "it  is  better  to  have* 
the  good  will  of  a  dog  than  his  ill  will." 

He  reckoned  Hiram  Goldbeck  a  good  man,  "but  Sammy," 
he  added,  "riches,  except  there  be  some  great  alterative, 
make  men  invertebrates,  coarse  and  hard,  and  demoralizing 
and,  not  infrequently,  become,  even  in  death,  the  ruling 
passion.  I  used  to  marvel  at  the  Saviour's  teachings  regard 
ing  riches  and  rich  men,  but  I  don't  any  more  since,  as  Presi 
dent,  I  have  become  acquainted  with  Wall  Street." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  added,  "Moses  did  a  great 
day's  work  when  he  smashed  the  golden  calf;  but  it's  a 
bigger  job  now,  Sammy,  for  it's  not  a  calf  any  more,  but 
full  grown,  and  a  'Bull,'  too !  And  we've  got  some  'Bears/ 


214  AMEKiCANS  ALL 

"But  Goldbeck's  face-about  indicates  that  he's  convinced 
that  we're  going  to  win  out,  and  that's  some  comfort  anyhow. 

"But  the  conversion  of  such  men  as  Judge  Gildersleeve  is 
of  immense  advantage  to  the  Union,"  Mr.  Lincoln  continued. 
"It  will  enable  me  to  save  the  Border  States ;  it  will  help 
brainy,  conscientious  men,  now  honestly  halting  between 
two  opinions,  to  come  to  a  correct  conclusion ;  it  will  make 
the  work  of  Felix  Palfreys  henceforth  impossible  in  Raleigh 
County,  maybe  throughout  Southern  Illinois.  Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve  is  a  Virginian  and  so  am  I,  ancestrally  and  by  choice ; 
he  is  a  gentleman  of  the  Old  School,  than  which  there  is 
nothing  finer ;  he  is  a  lawyer  of  the  profoundest  learning  and 
of  the  highest  character;  and  his  espousal  of  the  Union  will 
greatly  aid  our  cause. 

"And  my  dear  old  friend,  Fairfax  Culpepper,  true  a  gen 
tleman  and  big  a  rebel  as  ever  lived,  sort  of  second  Bob 
Toombs,  though  a  better  and  brainier  man,"  and  he  clasped 
and  unclasped  his  hands  and  cracked  his  knuckles,  a  habit 
he  had,  a  long  while,  apparently  staring  into  vacancy.  The 
young  lawyer  wondered  what  the  great  man  was  thinking 
about. 

"To  me  such  men  as  Dr.  Culpepper,"  he  presently  resumed, 
are  an  anomaly.  Rash,  yet  a  perfect  gentleman ;  swears  like 
a  pirate,  yet  is  the  soul  of  devotion;  loves  the  Flag,  yet 
spr.rns  all  that  it  stands  for;  from  his  point  of  view  a  con 
scientious  patriot,  but  from  every  other  viewpoint  a  defiant 
and  uncompromising  traitor ;  would  send  us  all  to  perdition 
if  he  could,  then  pray  the  rest  of  his  life  for  the  Lord  to 
deliver  us ;  denies  'the  nigger  a  soul,  by  gad,  suh,'  yet  would 
divide  his  last  crumb  and  penny  with  a  negro  in  distress. 
But  I  can't  understand  why,  Sammy,  if  the  South  is  so  much 
better  than  the  North,  as  he  avers,  he  doesn't  go  there ;  and 
why  he  is  so  angry  at  me,  though  I  have  not  in  any  way 
disturbed  his  person  or  property,  yet  is  boundlessly  pleased 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYEE  215 

when  Mr.  Davis  sanctions  expatriating  all  Union  citizens  in 
the  South,  and  appropriating  their  land,  homes,  money, 
everything  they  have — an  act  of  the  Confederate  Congress 
which  Mr.  Benjamin  is  enforcing  with  a  persistence  and 
ingenuity  little  short  of  fiendish,  a  crusade  of  confiscation 
and  spoliation  of  the  property  and  possessions  of  innocent 
people  unequaled  by  that  of  any  other  civilized  people  in 
the  history  of  the  world. 

"Nevertheless  I  deplore  the  disposition  to  mob  Dr.  Cul- 
pepper.  He's  a  good  man,  only  mistaken;  and  it  would 
greatly  grieve  me  were  harm  to  come  to  him  or  to  his 
family." 

"And,  Mr.  President,"  the  young  lawyer  observed,  "the 
peril  is  all  the  greater,  now  that  The  Elms  has  one  less 
defender — you  know,  Harold  has  broken  away  from  his 
father's  teachings  and  influence  and  joined  the  Union  army." 

"The  Almighty  be  praised  for  that!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lin 
coln;  then  on  second  thought  suddenly  sobering,  he  said, 
"No,  Sammy,  I  take  it  all  back.  As  President  I'm  glad,  but 
as  a  father  I  feel  only  pity.  It  is  the  history  of  Absalom  over 
again,  only,  in  this  case,  I  think  the  son  has  chosen  the  better 
part.  But  what  should  I  do,  what  would  become  of  me,  if 
my  son  Robert  were  to  desert  me,  and  join  the  army  of  mine, 
and  my  country's,  enemy?  It  would  break  my  heart." 

Mr.  Lincoln  was  deeply  distressed.  He  arose  and  walked 
across  to  a  window.  A  troop  of  soldiers  suddenly  appeared, 
then  marched  on  to  the  shrill  music  of  fife  and  drum.  The 
President  recognized  their  salute  and  returned  it.  In  the 
distance  there  was  the  sound  of  cannonry  at  target  practice, 
or  greeting  some  high  official.  Tad,  his  little  son,  came  in 
and  asked  his  father  to  sharpen  his  pencil.  The  great  ruler 
of  a  mighty  people  took  from  his  pocket  a  common  jack' 
knife  and  performed  the  humble  service  as  graciously  as  he 
would  have  officiated  at  a  state  occasion,  and  as  carefully  as 


216  AMERICANS  ALL 

he  would  have  prepared  a  Proclamation,  or  a  message  to 
Congress.  He  took  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms,  kissed  and 
caressed  him,  then  sent  him  back  to  his  mother. 

Seating  himself  at  the  table,  he  said:  "Sammy,  I  hate 
war — as  Cicero  and  Marcus  Aurelius  and  Plutarch  hated  it, 
so,  with  every  drop  of  my  Quaker  blood,  do  I  abhor  it.  It 
violates  solemn  treaties,  abrogates  sane  and  wholesome  laws, 
arouses  the  basest  passions,  as  it  is  always  the  offspring  of 
the  basest  of  all  passions,  namely,  selfishness ;  it  preys  upon 
the  innocent,  debauches  virtue,  robs  the  helpless,  is  merciless 
and  in  every  way  detestable.  My  heart  warms  to  our  Saviour 
when  I  remember  that  He  was  the  Prince  of  Peace.  I  hail 
John  Bright  as  a  brother  beloved,  not  merely  because  he 
hates  Slavery  and  takes  our  side  in  this  controversy,  but, 
supremely,  because  he  is  a  champion  of  peace.  Sometimes 
Sumner  is  hard  to  get  along  with,  but  then  I  think  how 
immovably  he  stands  for  peace,  and  I  love  him  just  the 
same. 

"Look  at  this  terrible  war — father  against  son,  brother 
arrayed  against  brother.  Take  the  case  of  the  Culpeppers. 
What  a  tragedy  it  is  to  the  frail  mother;  her  son  at  war 
against  the  government  of  which  her  cousin,  whose  loving 
esteem  she  naturally  prizes,  is  the  head !  And  the  Doctor 
never  will  forgive  his  son,  and  should  Harold  be  killed  what 
a  torment  the  Doctor's  whole  subsequent  life  will  be !  And 
what  a  catastrophe  to  the  sister!  And  the  family  at  outs 
with  the  Gildersleeves  and  Goldbecks  and  Leverings  and 
Pinckneys — the  people  with  whom  they  have  culture  and 
tastes  and  delights  in  common.  Only  Frothingay,  whom 
they  detest,  and  Boynton,  a  competitor,  left." 

There  was  an  infinite  pathos  in  the  President's  voice.  The 
secret  of  his  hold  on  men  now  was  patent:  to  sincerity  he 
added  a  passionate  love  for  humanity,  and  to  strength  a 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER  217 

tenderness  most  winsome;  withal,  there  was  a  noble  imper 
sonality,  self-forgetfulness,  in  all  his  thoughts  and  feelings. 
Not  for  himself  he  grieved ;  not  for  himself  was  he  planning 
for  the  future;  not  for  himself  was  he  bearing  the  burdens 
of  his  great  office,  and  enduring  the  bitter  taunts  and  fierce 
hatred  of  millions  of  his  countrymen;  not  for  himself  was 
he  bearing  the  cruel  and  crushing  cross  of  crucifixion  to 
Golgotha — it  was  all,  and  always,  for  others. 
''Others  he  saved;  himself  he  could  not  save." 
Simonson,  looking  into  the  seamed  and  homely  face, 
face  of  deeply-wrinkled  yellow  parchment,  face  on  which 
countless  heart-breaks  had  left  their  cruel  and  relentless 
autographs  and  affidavits,  and  listening  to  the  solemn  voice, 
nqw  high  and,  shrill,  now  low  and  soft  as  note  of  thrush 
at  twilight,  but  always  careworn  and  pathetic,  read 
anew  and  with  clearer  vision  the  lesson  that  every  birth, 
whether  of  principle  or  babe  or  nation,  is  always  a  tragedy ; 
that  the  reformer  of  necessity  is  a  martyr;  that  it  were 
better  that  a  thousand  constitutions,  however  hoary  and  ven 
erable,  and  however  numerously  signed  by  venerable  and 
illustrious  men,  should  be  violated,  even  annihilated,  than 
that  progress  should  be  stayed,  or  one  act  of  inhumanity 
committed;  that  no  body  of  men — theologians,  physicians, 
statesmen — however  wise,  is  infallible ;  that  no  man  or  body 
of  men,  however  prescient,  can  foresee  and  provide  for 
unborn  contingencies  and  exigencies;  that  constitutions  are 
made  for  men,  not  men  for  constitutions;  and  that  as  Jesus 
strove,  even  unto  death,  for  a  larger  life  and  a  more  perfect 
liberty  so,  for  this  self-same  purpose,  and  perhaps  as  provi 
dentially,  this  mysterious  man  of  low  degree  and  of  lowly 
parentage  was  come,  and  perhaps  at  last,  like  his  divine 
prototype,  would  give  his  life  as  a  supreme  token  of  his  love, 
and  pledge  of  his  devotion. 


218  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down 
his  life  for  his  friends." 

"And  now,  Sammy,  my  boy,"  the  great  War-President 
was  saying,  "you  must  help  me.  Your  work  is  cut  out  for 
you.  Can  I  count  on  you  ?  You  see  I  have  been  waiting  for 
you  to  ripen" 

"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  President,"  replied  the  young  lawyer  with 
a  great  uplift  of  soul,  as  the  young  priest,  rid  of  the  least  and 
last  remains  of  doubt,  and  certain  that  he  is  dead  to  the 
world,  stands  before  the  great  high  altar  to  take  the  final 
vows.  "Before  you  had  spoken  I  had  already  made  up  my 
mind  to  enlist  tomorrow  morning." 

"For  service  in  the  army,  Sammy?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  President !    Where  else  could  I  serve  ?" 

"As  well  in  the  army,  Sammy,  as  any  soldier-boy  I've  got, 
but  better  elsewhere." 

"But  where,  Mr.  President?"  Like  every  man  who  at 
last  has  come  to  a  decision,  whether  by  sudden  inspiration 
or  after  a  long  and  fierce  intellectual  struggle,  he  wanted  to 
act  at  once,  to  do  some  great  and  notable  thing  that  would 
proclaim  to  the  world  his  new  alliance  and  allegiance.  To 
have  his  high  resolve  to  act  promptly  and  decisively  ques 
tioned  awakened  in  him  a  vague  disappointment,  almost 
antagonism. 

"Where  else  and  how  other  than  by  fighting  in  the  army 
could  I  help  you  and  serve  my  country,  Mr.  President  ?" 

The  President  noticed  a  slight  change  in  the  color  and 
accent  of  the  young  lawyer's  voice  and  was  quick  to  read  the 
cause. 

Very  gently :    "At  home,  Sammy — in  New  Richmond." 

"But  what  can  I  do  there?"  Then  with  a  sudden  acces 
sion  of  feeling,  "There's  nothing  for  me  to  do  in  New 
Richmond." 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER  219 

"You're  mistaken,  Sammy.  Excuse  me  if  I  contradict 
you."  The  President  spoke  humbly  as  a  child  and  the  young 
lawyer  was  abashed. 

"Forgive  me,  Mr.  President.  Humbly  I  crave  your  par 
don.  Open  my  eyes  that  I  may  see  the  work  there  is  for  me 
to  do  in  New  Richmond.  Tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do, 
and  teach  me  the  way  to  do  it." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  rebuke  you,  Sammy,"  the  President 
gravely  replied,  "but  I  think  I  understand  the  situation  better 
than  you,  better  than  any  member  of  my  Cabinet,  or  all  of 
them  together,"  the  latter  part  as  if  to  himself. 

The  young  lawyer  bowed  his  head,  glad  that  the  Presi 
dent's  tone  and  manner  were  kindly  and  void  of  sarcasm. 

"Sammy,"  he  continued,  "if  we  can  hold  the  Border 
States  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  final  outcome  of 
the  war ;  should  we  lose  them  the  result  would  be  in  doubt, 
and  it  might  be  fatal  to  us.  This  then  must  be  my  first  con 
cern  :  to  hold  the  Border  States,  and  prevent  them  from 
aligning  themselves  with  the  Southern  Confederacy.  This, 
we  may  say,  is  the  key  to  the  whole  situation. 

"Next  to  that  I  am  concerned  for  my  own  state — Illinois. 
I  confess  there  is  somewhat  of  sentiment  in  this,  but  a  senti 
mentality  that,  I  trust,  is  pardonable.  I  naturally  crave  the 
approval  of  my  friends  and  neighbors,  and  while  the  loss 
of  Illinois  would  not  necessarily  be  fatal,  it  would  be  a  great 
personal  grief  and  humiliation  to  me,  and  a  serious  blow  to 
the  cause  for  which  we  are  contending. 

"A  glance  at  the  map  will  instantly  reveal  to  you  the 
strategic  position  of  Illinois,  with  Missouri  to  the  west  and 
Kentucky  to  the  south.  Unfortunately  we  are  weakest  in 
Illinois  where  we  need  to  be  the  strongest ;  the  same  is  true 
of  Indiana  and  Ohio.  Northern  Illinois  is  strong,  while 
Southern  Illinois,  where  we  have  everything  to  contend 


220  AMEEICANS  ALL 

with,  is  weak.  In  other  words,  Missouri,  Kentucky  and 
Southern  Illinois,  though  separate  entities,  territorially,  are 
one  socially  and  politically.  Hence,  if  we  can  keep  Southern 
Illinois  in  line,  Missouri  and  Kentucky,  with  their  two  great 
border  cities,  St.  Louis  and  Louisville,  will  find  it  difficult  to 
break  away  and  wander  off  after  strange  gods. 

"Hence,  both  politically  and  sentimentally  there  are  strong 
reasons  why  we  must  not  permit  men,  like  Dr.  Culpepper, 
to  gain  the  upper  hand  in  Southern  Illinois. 

"Another  thing :  in  less  than  a  year  we  shall  have  another 
Congressional  election ;  and  our  enemies  will  do  their  utmost 
to  wrest  Congress  from  us.  Of  course  they  can't  do  it ;  but 
if,  in  the  38th  Congress,  our  majority  should  be  cut  down 
the  result  might  be  lamentable.  Now  if  brave,  loyal,  capable 
Democrats,  of  the  Logan,  McClernand,  and  Robinson  stamp, 
could  be  elected  from  the  Southern  Illinois  districts  it  would 
not  matter  so  much ;  but  that,  I  fear,  is  impossible.  How 
ever,  if  we  put  up  good  and  capable  men,  and  keep  men  like 
Culpepper  well  in  hand,  we  may  put  our  political  adversaries 
on  their  good  behavior." 

The  young  lawyer  had  listened  to  the  President's  outline 
of  the  political  situation  and  perils  in  Southern  Illinois  with 
intensest  interest  and  a  gradual  apprehension  of  the  work 
the  President  desired  him  to  do,  but  was  certain  he  lacked 
every  essential  qualification.  Besides,  he  wanted  to  get 
away  from  New  Richmond.  Even  bloody  Mars  would  be  a 
relief  after  the  discomfiture  inflicted  on  him  by  relentless 
Venus.  To  face  the  scorn  of  Vergie  Culpepper  and  the  im- 
perviousness  of  Marjorie  Gildersleeve  were,  to  his  mind  just 
then,  ordeals  too  great  for  him  to  endure. 

"Mr.  President,"  the  young  lawyer  replied,  "I  think  I 
understand  what  you  want  me  to  do." 

"Maybe  you're  mistaken,  Sammy,  as  the  girl  said  to  her 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYEE  221 

over-confident  beau  who  had  prematurely  popped  the 
question." 

"And  I  am  certain,"  the  young  lawyer  persisted,  feeling 
now  that  he  must  be  resolute,  "I  do  not  possess  the  necessary 
qualifications." 

"Sammy,"  the  President  broke  in  with  a  gleam  of  humor 
in  his  kindly  face,  "is  it  a  gal  that's  the  reason  you  don't 
want  to  go  back?" 

The  drawl  and  the  dialect  were  inimitable  and  the  young 
lawyer  could  not  resist  the  spell.  But,  suddenly  sobering, 
the  President  added,  "Don't  be  offended,  Sammy.  The  love 
of  a  noble  young  man  for  a  pure  sweet  young  woman  is  the 
holiest  thing  in  the  world.  Such  an  experience  was  mine 
once  and  it  was  like  heaven  to  my  poor  heart — but  she  died." 

Mr.  Lincoln's  profound  emotion,  evidenced  in  both  speech 
and  manner,  gripped  the  young  man's  heart,  and  he  won 
dered  if  the  President's  memory  had  suddenly  brought  back 
to  him  the  face  and  form  of  Ann  Rutledge,  whose  sudden 
death  at  Old  Salem  had  almost  wrecked  his  life. 

"There  are  many  ways,  Sammy,  of  serving  one's  country. 
While  our  brave  boys  are  facing  death  on  the  battlefield  some 
of  us  must  hold  things  down  and  together  at  home,  and  keep 
track  of  the  enemies  in  the  rear ;  and  this  home  work  requires 
the  greatest  skill  and  patience.  Daniel  Boone  could  have 
beaten  Cicero  all  hollow  on  a  coon  hunt ;  but  when  it  came 
to  hunting  down  and  bringing  to  book  bold  and  unscrupulous 
conspirators,  like  Cataline,  there  was  no  man  quite  the  equal 
of  Cicero.  It  would  have  been  folly  for  Cicero  to  have  gone 
down  to  Etruria  and  Picenum — his  place  was  in  Rome,  just 
as  your  place,  for  the  present  at  least,  is  in  New  Richmond." 

"But,  Mr.  President,  I'm  neither  orator  or  politician,"  the 
young  lawyer  persisted,  now  more  vehemently,  feeling  that 
he  was  being  cornered,  "and,  like  yourself,  Cicero  was  both. 


222  AMERICANS  ALL 

Don't  you  see  how  incapable  I  am  for  the  work  you  want 
done  in  Southern  Illinois?" 

"Sammy,"  with  a  low  chuckle,  "I  don't  want  you  to  spout, 
nor  do  I  want  you  to  wallow  in  the  loblolly  of  politics — I 
just  want  you  to  lie  low  and  keep  your  weather-eye  open  and 
your  mainsail-ear  spread  to  the  breeze.  Keep  track  of  things 
for  me.  Some  folks  will  bear  watching.  If  we're  not  care 
ful  they'll  do  us  dirt.  I'll  furnish  you  a  partial  list  of  them 
and  you  can  complete  it.  No,  Culpepper  is  not  to  be  feared. 
He's  open  and  honorable  and  above  board.  It's  the  sneaks 
like  Voe  Bijaw  we've  got  to  look  out  for.  Read  the  papers, 
mingle  freely  in  society,  and  entertain  a  very  poor  opinion 
of  me  in  your  conversation  so  that  no  one  will  think  we're 
working  in  cahoots.  There  are  a  few  places,  sort  of  plague 
spots,  that  will  especially  bear  watching.  One  is  near  Thyra- 
tira,  just  over  in  Ephrata  County.  Another  is  Patmos,  in 
Vision  County.  Another  is  Rapidan,  the  county  seat  of 
Rapid  Anne  County — and  of  course  there  are  several  others. 
Once  in  a  while  you  could  run  over  to  Thyratira,  or  Patmos, 
or  Rapidan,  or  any  other  place  that's  just  spi-l'm'  for  atten 
tion,  on  legal  business,  of  course,  and  I'll  look  after  the 
necessary  spondulix." 

"Mr.  President,"  exclaimed  Simonson.  "I  cannot  per 
mit  you  to  continue  longer,  laboring  under  the  erroneous 
assumption  which  my  silence  may  have  justified,  that  I  am 
going  to  undertake  this  commission.  Why,  even  now,  I  fear 
I'm  liable  to  be  arrested  for  obtaining  goods  under  false 
pretences.  But,  once  for  all,  I'm  not  going  back  to  New 
Richmond,  and  I  am  going  to  enlist  tomorrow  morning  in 
McClellan's  army." 

"And  so,  Sammy,"  smiling  quizzically,  "your  mind's  made 
up,  is  it?  All  right!"  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then 
Mr.  Lincoln  added :  "Sammy,  I'm  disappointed,  sorely  dis- 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER  223 

appointed,  but,"  placing  his  hands  on  the  young  lawyer's 
shoulders,  as  a  father  might  lovingly  confront  a  son  beloved, 
"I  respect  and  honor  your  conscientious  convictions.  In 
some  matters  there  can  be  no  human  intervention — Jacob 
had  to  have  it  out  alone  with  God." 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  the  young  lawyer,  having  said 
good-night,  was  leaving,  Mr.  Lincoln  called  him  back  and 
said: 

"By  the  way,  Sammy,  let  me  see  you  in  the  morning  before 
you  enlist.  I  think  maybe  I  can  direct  you  to  your  advan 
tage,  even  though  Seward  and  Greeley  seem  to  think  I'm  a 
greenhorn.  But,  Sammy,  I'm  cutting  my  eye  teeth  mighty 
fast  in  this  office." 

The  following  morning  when  Simonson  had  told  Mr. 
Lincoln  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  that  he  was  eager 
to  get  back  to  New  Richmond  with  his  "weather-eye 
open,  and  his  main-sail  ear  spread,"  the  President  laughed 
boisterously  and  said:  "Been  ripenin',  Sammy?  Been 
ripenin'?  I  thought  you'd  be  ripe  by  morning,  and  you're 
no  Jonah's  gourd  either.  I  doggie,  Sammy,  this  does  me 
good.  If  I  felt  any  better  my  Adams  apple  would  exude  so 
much  cider  I'd  drown  in  apple-jack!  Of  all  men,  you're 
supremely  qualified,  Sammy,  to  do  just  the  work  that's 
needed  in  Southern  Illinois.  Quiet,  brave,  diplomatic,  edu 
cated,  a  lawyer,  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  people  and 
situation — there's  none  other  that's  so  perfectly  fitted  and 
equipped,  least  of  all  myself,  to  grapple  with  the  Egyptian 
plots  and  machinations  against  us.  Any  man  can  pull  a 
trigger,  and  advance  or  retreat,  as  per  order  of  commanding 
officer — be  a  fighting  machine — but  to  take  the  initiative,  to 
match  cunning  with  yet  greater  cunning,  blind,  hot-headed 
rashness  with  clear-eyed,  cool-headed,  carefully  reasoned- 
out,  purposeful  heroism,  with  a  definite  object  in  view,  re- 


224  AMERICANS  ALL 

quires  braitis,  Sammy,  and  you've  got  'em,  heaps  of  'em. 
Blessings  on  you,  my  boy!  You've  taken  a  great  burden 
off  my  heart.  With  you  in  command  in  Southern  Illinois, 
I  shall  rest  easy,  so  far  as  that  locality  is  concerned.  I  only 
wish  everything  was  as  satisfactory  over  there,"  looking 
away  toward  McClellan's  command.  "Again,  blessings  on 
you,  Sammy ;  and  let  me  hear  from  time  to  time — how  the 
menagerie's  performing!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  CALM  BEFORE  THE  STORM — VERGIE  CULPEPPER  AGAIN 

WHEN  the  young  lawyer  returned  to  New  Richmond  he 
found  everything  surprisingly  quiet.  The  bellicose 
passions  of  early  October  seemingly  had  entirely  subsided. 
Amsden  Armentrout,  recovered  from  the  blow  he  had 
received,  was  pounding  iron  as  usual.  Abner  Wilcox  was 
vending  sorghum  and  calico,  rock  candy  and  spike  nails, 
with  equal  grimness  and  passivity,  while  Hiram  Goldbeck 
was  as  eager  as  ever  in  pursuit  of  the  almighty  dollar. 

Lige  Ferris,  a  horse  trader,  was  in  town;  but  as  Tie  had 
cheated  everybody  out  of  his  eye  teeth  nobody  would  look  at 
his  horses.  A  strolling  band  of  gipsies  drove  through  with 
out  imperiling  their  souls  by  the  acquisition  of  that  "dross," 
the  inordinate  love  of  which  is  said  to  be  the  root  of  all  evil ; 
the  only  notice  taken  of  them  was  by  the  canine  population. 
A  murder  trial  was  on  at  the  court  house,  but  as  it  had  been 
brought  on  a  change  of  venue  from  Sardis  it  excited  but 
little  local  interest.  In  fact  the  streets  were  practically 
deserted,  as  the  children  were  in  school  and  the  farmers  were 
busy  gathering  corn,  "butchering,"  and  hauling  and  work- 
ing-up  the  winter  firewood. 

Apparently  nothing  was  the  matter  with  the  world,  and 
nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  ever  had  occurred  at  New  Rich 
mond  ;  least  of  all  would  it  have  been  conceivable  to  an  out 
sider  that  behind  the  placid  faces  and  kindly  greetings  of  the 
citizens  there  were  slumbering  passions  that  could  be  awak 
ened,  easily  and  instantly,  to  a  most  extraordinary  turbulence 

225 


226  AMERICANS  ALL 

and  fury — that  indeed  presently  would  be  kindled  to  such  a 
height  of  hatred  and  ferocity  as  would  result  in  a  climax  of 
murderous  violence  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  dauntless  defi 
ance  on  the  other,  unsurpassed  even  in  the  tragedies  of 
^schylus  and  Sophocles. 

Several  events  had  contributed  to  the  present  tranquillity. 
Dr.  Culpepper's  assault  on  Amsden  Armentrout  had  pro 
foundly  shocked  the  entire  community — and  none  deplored  it 
more,  after  the  storm  of  his  passion  had  subsided,  than  the 
Doctor  himself;  and  he  and  his  fellow  Southerners  realized 
that  the  time  had  come  when  moderation  and  mutual  con 
cession  were  indispensable. 

Thus  for  a  week  Dr.  Culpepper  and  his  compatriots  had 
vied  with  the  "Yankee  Abolitionists"  in  expressions  of  sym 
pathy  and  kindly  offers  of  assistance ;  and  when  the  rugged 
but  pale  blacksmith  once  more  appeared  on  the  street  none 
greeted  him  with  greater  or  sincerer  cordiality  than  those 
who  were  the  most  diametrically  opposed  to  him  politically. 

The  mob-spirit,  too,  which  twice  had  manifested  itself  on 
successive  evenings,  had  had  a  sobering  effect.  Whether 
Roundhead  or  Cavalier,  the  Anglo-Saxon  cannot  abide  the 
mob ;  and  on  two  occasions  gruesome,  murderous  Anarchy 
had  lifted  its  hideous  head,  and  openly  defied  .the  authorities, 
in  New  Richmond;  and  citizens,  regardless  of  previous 
differences  of  opinion,  anxiously  inquired  :  "If  they  do  these 
things  in  a  green  tree,  what  shall  be  done  in  the  dry?" 

But  the  quietness  of  the  community  and  abstention  from 
rancorous  political  discussion  possibly  were  mainly  due  to 
the  sympathy  felt  for  Dr.  Culpepper  and  his  family  on 
account  of  Harold's  abrupt  severance  of  all  home  ties.  That 
he  had  espoused  the  Union  was  only  a  surprise ;  but  to  have 
left  home  as  he  had  done  was  profoundly  shocking.  Even 
the  staunchest  Loyalists  could  not  approve  of  the  manner 
of  his  going,  nor  refuse  the  meed  of  sympathy  to  the 


THE  CALM  BEFOBE  THE  STORM 

stricken  family.  The  Doctor  suddenly  had  aged,  Vergie 
refused  to  be  seen,  and  the  reports  concerning  Mrs.  Cul- 
pepper's  grief  and  declining  health  were  such  as  to  awaken 
the  liveliest  commiseration.  Whatever  dislike  Dr.  Culpep- 
per's  previous  words  and  actions  had  aroused  now  was  for 
gotten  in  the  presence  of  his  great  domestic  affliction.  The 
leading  Loyalists,  such  as  Noss  and  Blavey,  exhibited  a  spe 
cially  fine  spirit,  assuring  the  Doctor  that  elation  on  account 
of  what  the  Union  cause  had  gained  by  the  enlistment  of  his 
son  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  regret  and  sorrow 
they  felt  over  the  loss  he  had  sustained.  To  all  such  expres 
sions  of  sympathy  the  Doctor  listened  gravely  and  respect 
fully,  and  returned  thanks  in  a  manner  and  spirit  that  left 
nothing  to  be  desired. 

Thus  for  a  season  everything  moved  along  quietly  ana 
uneventfully.  But  little  was  heard  regarding  war  or  politics, 
though  of  course  there  were  flying  rumors  and  casual 
remarks.  It  was  generally  understood  that  the  President 
and  McClellan  were  at  outs,  but  if  concern  was  felt,  one  way 
or  the  other,  no  one  said  so.  Banks  and  Butler,  one  a  politi 
cian  and  the  other  a  lawyer,  were  fighting  somewhere — but 
no  one  seemed  sufficiently  interested  to  inquire  whether  suc 
cessfully  or  unsuccessfully.  The  little  affair  at  Hatteras 
Inlet  the  last  of  August  was,  to  all  appearances,  a  thing  of 
the  past  and  utterly  unrelated  to  the  present.  On  the  Sev 
enth  of  November,  Port  Royal,  midway  between  Charleston 
and  Savannah,  again  uncovered  before  "Old  Glory ;"  as  did 
also,  on  the  same  day,  Belmont,  Missouri — but  there  was  no 
commotion  in  New  Richmond.  The  37th  Congress  met  in 
December  but  New  Richmond,  though  reading  the  proceed 
ings  day  by  day,  made  few  comments.  The  Battle  of  Ball's 
Bluff  was  fought  and  lost  by  the  Union  forces,  the  gallant 
General  E.  D.  Baker  of  the  Union  army  being  among  the 


228  AMEEICANS  ALL 

killed ;  but  sorrowing  and  rejoicing  alike  were  done  in  silence 
or  in  secret. 

Naturally  such  a  state  of  affairs  was  not  conducive  to 
social  intercourse.  Social  life  is  at  its  best  only  when  con 
versation  is  unrestrained,  confidence  is  conscious  of  no 
impediment,  and  good-will  is  joyful  and  boundless.  All  these 
conditions  now  were  lacking  in  New  Richmond  except 
among  a  very  few  in  two  or  three  unrelated  and  sharply 
differentiated  circles. 

The  Culpeppers  were  practically  self-ostracised.  They 
couldn't  endure  distrust,  or  to  be  pitied  or  patronized ;  least 
of  all  could  they  assume  to  be  in  sympathy  with  their  Union 
neighbors  when  they  were  not,  or  refrain  from  expressing 
their  desire  for  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  Southern  Con 
federacy.  But  their  virile  and  tenacious  courage  caused  them 
to  scorn,  with  an  antipathy  that  knew  no  bounds,  their 
former  friends  who,  though  still  claiming  to  be  Jeffersonian 
Democrats,  were  now  aligned  with  the  Lincoln  administra 
tion.  To  none  of  these — the  Gildersleeves,  Pinckneys,  Gold- 
becks — had  a  Culpepper  spoken  since  their  defection  from 
the  Southern  cause.  For  Unionists,  as  unbending  and. un 
compromising  as  themselves — the  Nosses,  Blaveys,  and 
Armentrout — they  entertained  a  boundless  respect,  but,  nat 
urally,  it  was  void  of  warmth  or  sympathy — such  as  stern 
warriors  feel  for  other  warriors  equally  stern,  and  whom 
they  know  to  be  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Among  War  Democrats  there  were  two  classes:  the  fit 
and  the  non-fit.  In  the  first  class  the  Gildersleeves  were  pre 
eminent  ;  and  with  them  were  associated  a  very  few,  such  as 
the  Goldbecks  and  Pinckneys. 

In  the  non-fit  group  were  such  as  the  Bijaws,  Gordons, 
Singletons,  and  Tutwilers. 

Among  Loyalists  there  was  but  little  intercourse.  For 
the  most  part  they  were  too  much  concerned  with  secular 


THE  CALM  BEFORE  THE  STOEM 

duties,  and  too  much  absorbed  by  patriotic  ardor  and  anxiety, 
to  give  much  attention  to  social  diversion — not  unlike  Crom 
well,  and  the  early  New  England  Puritans. 

There  was  yet  the  Fourth  Estate,  uneducated,  unused  to 
the  refinements  and  amenities  of  cultured  society,  caring 
nothing  for  literature,  with  whom  life  continued  about  as 
usual.  They  met  freely  at  their  corn-huskings,  house-rais 
ings,  quilting-bees,  apple-cuttings,  rustic  dances,  singing 
schools,  spelling  matches,  debating  societies,  and  kissing  par 
ties.  They  spoke  their  minds  without  reserve  and,  if  their 
opinions  were  seriously  called  in  question,  proved  them  by 
the  muscular  method. 

To  none  of  these  circles  did  the  young  lawyer  belong. 
He  was  a  newcomer,  and,  therefore,  could  not  expect  to  be 
regarded  as  a  member  of  the  old  order.  Owing  to  Judge 
Gildersleeve's  hospitality  he  had  been  "recognized"  but  not 
yet  adopted.  But  for  the  unhappy  state  of  affairs  occasioned 
by  the  war  in  due  time,  doubtless,  he  would  have  become  a 
member  of  the  Culpepper-Gildersleeve-Goldbeck  circle  which 
represented  the  dominant  element  in  the  community;  but 
now  that  circle  was  disrupted. 

With  the  Noss-Blavey  group  he  had  much  in  common  but 
was  not  sufficiently  radical  to  suit  them,  though  he  was  too 
radical  for  such  as  the  Goldbecks  and  Wilcoxes. 

As  to  the  Fourth  Estate  he  was  too  "high-browed"  to  be 
agreeable;  and  for  the  opposite  reason  they  did  not  appeal 
to  him.  He  acknowledged  their  many  excellent  qualities 
and  admired  their  sterling  integrity,  but  found  their  intel 
lectual  life  and  sympathies  narrow  and  restricted. 

But  for  his  hopeless  passion  for  Marjorie  Gildersleeve  he 
would  have  found  delight  in  the  circle  at  The  Maples.  That 
he  was  welcome  there  he  had  every  reason  to  believe.  The 
Judge  was  like  a  father  to  him,  and  his  wife  declared  that 
Fred  and  Sammy  were  the  two  finest  boys  in  the  world- 


230 


AkERICANS  ALL 


Even  Marjorie,  though  a  trifle  shy  and  reserved  when  in  his 
presence,  always  showed  her  pleasure  when  he  came  to  The 
Maples,  and  often  mildly  chided  him  because  he  was  not  a 
more  frequent  visitor.  After  their  interview  at  her  father's 
office,  the  day  she  called,  she  had  never  mentioned  Harold 
Culpepper's  name,  just  why  he  could  not  surmise,  unless  it 
was  because  she  wished  to  spare  his  feelings.  He  wondered 
if  they  corresponded,  but  supposed  they  did — he  also  won 
dered  if  Harold  still  kept  up  his  correspondence  with  the 
grass-widow.  However,  they  but  rarely  met,  and  on  such 
occasions  their  conversation,  of  necessity,  was  always  on 
trite  and  irrelevant  subjepts. 

Thus  left  more  and  more  alone  he  consoled  himself, 
when  not  engaged,  by  long  rambles  in  the  woods.  Always 
fond  of  Nature  in  all  her  myriad  moods  he  now  found  com 
munion  with  her  a  great  source  of  comfort  and  inspira 
tion.  Bird  and  animal  life  were  to  him  clothed  with  in 
finite  charm. 

Speeding  on  horseback  along  the  north  roads,  or  indulg 
ing  in  tramps  over  the  hills  now  hung  with  the  pink  and 
purple  and  hazy-blue  tapestries  of  autumn,  and  down 
through  the  quiet  dales,  now  strangely  quiet  and  peaceful, 
the  young  lawyer  felt  his  pulses  quicken  and  the  world 
take  on  a  brighter  hue. 

It  was  the  simple  life  he  saw  about  him — no  war,  or 
mixed  motives,  or  cross  purposes;  no  passions,  save  those 
of  love,  and  good  will,  and  unrestrained  fellowship;  no 
ambitions  save  such  as  are  calm  and  sane  and  wholesome. 
It  was  sweet  to  be  living,  the  young  lawyer  felt;  to  be  at 
peace  with  the  world;  to  be  rid  of  all  passions  and  am 
bitions  ;  to  be  atone  with  Nature.  The  bright  green  moss, 
the  golden  and  scarlet  ensign  of  the  trees,  the  mellow  beams 
of  the  sun  now  tilting  toward  the  southern  horizon,  the  low 
soft  gurgle  of  the  brook,  the  gentle  maternal  call,  both  com- 


THE  CALM  BEFOEE  THE 

mand  and  caress,  of  bird  and  beast,  and  the  gladsome  dutiful 
filial  answer,  followed  by  the  velvety  sigh  of  domestic  peace 
and  satisfaction — ah,  yes,  it  was  good  to  be  alive  and  living 
thus  away  from  the  strife  and  turmoil  of  the  world,  free 
from  the  feverish  and  maddening  passions  and  ambitions  of 
men.  Washington?  To  the  young  lawyer  it  seemed  to  be 
in  another  world.  Lincoln?  He  had  become  as  one  of  the 
Homeric  gods.  The  War?  It  had  become  as  remote  as 
Milton's  commotion  in  heaven. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  was  thinking  one  day  as  he  strolled  along 
over  a  floor  of  soft  earth,  deeply  carpeted  with  moss,  "why 
not  here  in  a  peaceful  valley  among  the  hills  an  humble  cot 
tage,  a  few  shelves  of  books  tried  and  true,  a  cat  and  dog 
for  company,  bird-carols  for  music,  the  notes  of  thrush  and 
whippoorwill  for  matins  and  vespers,  the  cricket  to  drone 
the  slumber  song,  the  breath  of  dawn  to  sweep  back  the  in 
visible  and  intangible  curtain  of  slumber  and  reveal  the 
splendors  of  the  new-born  day,  a " 

"Oh— oh " 

Involuntarily  Simonson  stopped  and  listened.  It  was  a 
human  voice,  the  voice  of  a  woman  in  distress,  but  he  was 
not  quite  able  to  locate  it. 

Again  it  came,  now  louder  and  more  insistent.  In  it,  too, 
there  was  a  tone  of  vexation  almost  akin  to  tears. 

"Oh — oh — "  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Oh — oh — I  can't  loose 
myself!  What  shall  I  do-o?"  The  voice  trailed  off  into 
something  like  a  sob. 

Simonson  now  was  able  to  locate  the  direction  whence 
came  the  cry  of  distress  and  hastened  thither.  In  a  few 
moments  he  came  upon — Vergie  Culpepper. 

She  was  standing  under  a  low  thorn-tree  with  her  hair 
entangled  in  the  branches.  Evidently  she  had  been  examin 
ing  the  strange  tree,  passing  under  the  low  boughs  with 
jaunty  riding  hat  in  hand,  when  a  tress  of  her  hair  had  be- 


232  AMEKICANS  ALL 

come  entangled  on  one  of  the  thorn-covered  limbs.  Try 
ing  to  extricate  herself  she  had  become  only  more  hope 
lessly  entangled  until  her  bondage  was  complete.  Try  as 
she  would  she  could  not  get  away.  Compelled  to  stoop  be 
cause  the  branches  were  low ;  unable  to  move  in  any  direc 
tion  without  intensest  pain;  her  gown  torn  and  her  hair, 
free  from  its  accustomed  fetters,  disheveled;  far  from  any 
farm  house  and  with  no  human  being,  for  aught  she  knew, 
nearer  than  New  Richmond,  her  situation  was,  indeed,  piti 
able,  and,  without  help,  it  might  become  alarming. 

The  young  lawyer  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance.  He 
knew  she  hated  him — but  no  matter  now.  More  than  likely 
she  would  rather  die  than  that  he  should  touch  her — then 
he  must  rescue  her  perforce.  In  such  an  exigency  he  must 
meet  scorn  with  boundless  good  humor,  and  fiery  speech 
with  good  natured  quip  and  jest.  If  he  was  glad  to  see 
her,  to  meet  her  again,  that  he  was  now  able  to  render  her 
a  service,  that  serving  her  he  must  touch  her  hair,  maybe 
her  hands,  look  into  the  depths  of  her  wonderful  eyes,  and 
listen  to  the  voice  that  had  in  it,  even  when  attuned  to  the 
staccatos  and  syncopations  of  wrath,  such  extraordinary 
cadences — what  wonder? 

Hearing  his  approaching  footsteps  she  exclaimed,  "Oh, 
I'm  so  thankful,"  not  able  to  turn  her  head  and  see  her 
coming  deliverer.  "Whoever  you  may  be  if  you  will  but 
loose  me  and  let  me  go  I  shall  never  be  able  to  thank  you 
enough;  besides  I'm  Dr.  Culpepper's  daughter  and  Papa, 
I'm  sure,  will  abundantly  reward  you." 

"Upon  my  soul,  Beauty  in  distress !"  he  exclaimed  aloud, 
seeing  that  she  was  in  no  immediate  danger,  and  not  will 
ing  yet  to  face  her  dauntless  spirit.  Possibly,  too,  he  had  a 
bit  of  Petruchio's  jocund  philosophy. 

"Oh,  sir,  do  not  taunt  me,  but  rescue  me !  Don't  you  see 
my  pitiable  plight?" 


THE  CALM  BEFORE  THE  STORM  233 

"Indeed,  I  do,"  he  replied.  "Most  interesting.  Sort  of 
tableau.  Reminds  me,  yes,  I  have  it — Absalom !" 

"Oh,"  with  a  voice  now  rent  between  grief  and  pain  and 
rage,  "now  I  recognize  you  by  your  voice.  Brute,  to  taunt 
a  helpless  woman  in  distress!  Devil,  to  remind  her  in  such 
a  moment  of  the  greatest  sorrow  of  her  life !  Coward,  to 
apply  an  insulting  epithet  to  my  brother  when  he  is  not  here 
to  resent  it!" 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Culpepper,"  now  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  himself.  "Your  rebuke  is  just,  though  I  did  not  mean 
it  the  way  you  took  it." 

He  was  now  advancing  to  release  her,  but  she  would 
have  none  of  his  assistance. 

"Leave  me!"  she  almost  hissed.  "I  would  rather  perish 
than  be  beholden  to  you  for  anything." 

Unheeding  her  vitriolic  speech  and  temper  he  bent  low, 
beginning  the  work  of  extrication  when,  for  a  moment  for 
getting  her  physical  torment,  she  smote  him  in  the  face. 
Still  undeterred  he  grasped  the  offending  hand  and  held  it 
while,  with  his  other  hand,  he  endeavored  to  loose  the  tresses 
nearest  him.  Provoked  beyond  endurance  by  his  cool  de 
termination,  as  his  face  unconsciously  was  lowered  on  a 
level  with  her  own,  she  spat  in  it  and,  with  a  vigorous  kick, 
sent  him  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

Despite  her  torture,  now  augmented  by  her  exertion,  she 
broke  out  into  a  taunting  ripple  of  laughter.  The  young 
lawyer  looked  at  her,  amazed  at  her  peerless  beauty  and 
dauntless  spirit.  He  was  not  angry — he  had  given  her  oc 
casion  for  wrath.  But  he  was  nonplused.  Would  it  be 
right  to  tie  her  hands  till  he  could  extricate  her?  It  seemed 
the  only  way.  He  surveyed  the  tree,  trying  to  hit  on  some 
feasible  plan. 

"Beautiful  tree,  isn't  it?"  Her  voice  now  was  soft  and 
purring  but  surcharged  with  subtle  mockery.  "You're  a 


234  AMERICANS  ALL 

Boston  man,  I  believe ;  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  about  it." 
Her  manner  was  as  unconcerned  as  that  of  an  indolent 
tourist,  but  there  was  a  dash  of  blood  on  one  cheek,  and  her 
face  was  haggard  with  pain.  Her  spirit,  however,  was  un 
tamed,  defiant.  His  soul  revolted  against  seeing  her  suffer, 
and  his  heart  was  touched  to  pity,  but  what  could  he  do  with 
such  a  willful  girl?  Again  he  looked  at  her.  She  still  was 
smiling  at  him  with  infinite  sang-froid,  and  her  beautiful 
white  teeth  gleamed  with  mockery. 

"Oh,  well,"  now  aroused  to  wrath,  "since  you  are  so  much 
interested  in  botany  and  forestry  I  will  answer  you."  Leis 
urely  pursing  his  lips  and  examining  a  low  branch  with  its 
now  faded  leaves  and  an  occasional  withered  blossom  he 
said :  "Uh-m,  Rhamnaceae,  I  believe.  Loosely-veined  leaves, 
four  or  five  petals  with  short  claws,  stamens  short,  black 
berry-like  fruit  with  cartilaginous  seed-like  nutlets,  coty 
ledons  foliaceous.  Uh-m!  yes — bitterish  properties,"  look 
ing  at  her  meaningly,  "alternate  leaves  and  small  flowers, 
stamens  of  the  number  of  the  valvate  sepals  and  alternate 
with  them,  inserted  on  a  disc  which  lines  the  calyx-tube  and 
often  unites  it  with  the  base  of  the  ovary,  this  having  a  sin 
gle  erect  ovule  in  each  of  the  from  two  to  five  cells.  Yes, 
this  is  of  the  buckthorn  family  and " 

"O  Mr.  Simonson,  call  me  any  name  you  are  a-mind,  but 
please  loose  me !  I  believe  I'm  going  to  f-faint."  Her  voice 
had  almost  sunk  to  a  whisper,  and  her  face  was  very  white. 

Startled,  he  leaped  to  her  side.  Resolutely  passing  one 
arm  about  her  with  his  other  hand  he  reached  up  and  drew 
down  the  offending  bough. 

"Now  kneel  by  my  side,  as  I  kneel."  There  was  no  demur 
or  resistance. 

"There  now ;  lean  against  me  so  as  to  rest  and  steady  your 
self—that's  better." 

She  had  obeyed  meekly.    Now  working  with  all  the  speed 


THE  CALM  BEFOEE  THE  STORM  235 

possible,  reaching  first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left,  she 
was  able  to  maintain  her  equilibrium.  "Put  your  arm  around 
me,  Miss  Culpepper?  The  pain  will  be  less  and  I  can  work 
faster." 

Once  more  she  obeyed,  but  this  time  haltingly.  "There! 
at  last,"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  free  and  can  go." 

"But,  Mr.  Simonson,  my  knees  are  numb  and  I  can't 
get  up.  You  must — er,  will  you  help  me,  please?"  Now 
she  was  very  humble,  very  appealing. 

Stooping  low  he  took  her  by  the  hands,  but  her  limbs 
were  so  numb  and  exhausted  even  yet  they  refused  to  re 
spond  to  her  bidding. 

"There's  no  way,  Miss  Culpepper,  but  for  me  to  put  my 
arms  about  you  and  rescue  you  from  this — Sabine  tree." 

She  smiled — and  held  up  both  her  arms. 

Together  they  walked  down  to  the  road  where  she  had 
dismounted  and  left  her  horse.  "And  now,  Mr.  Simonson," 
she  said,  "how  can  I  sufficiently  reward  you?  And  how 
rude  I  was — how  can  I  ever  forgive  myself?  Please  tell 
me  what  I  can  do  to — to — please  you." 

"What  I  did,  Miss  Culpepper,  was  nothing,  and  I  have 
need  of  your  forgiveness  for  my  insolence;  indeed  I  quite 
loathe  myself.  But  if  you  want  to  make  me  very  happy, 
out  of  the  goodness  of  your  heart,  there  are  two  things  you 
can  do." 

"Name  them!" 

"First,  forgive  whatever  pain  or  annoyance  I  may  have 
caused  you." 

"  'Tis  done,  Mr.  Simonson."  Then  with  a  face  full  of 
pain,  "O  Mr.  Simonson,  you  don't  know  how  we  suffer 
at  our  house.  They  talk  about  the  'Via  Dolorosa,'  and  the 
'Ponte  dei  Sospiri,' — Bridge  of  Sighs — but  since  these,  terri 
ble  times  have  come,  and  Harold  has  gone  away,  The  Elms 
has  become  a  Casa  del  Agoniscia — House  of  Anguish.  Papa 


236  AMERICANS  ALL 

is  utterly  broken,  yet  refuses  to  be  reconciled;  poor  Mama 
bravely  smiles  but  daily  grows  weaker;  and  I — well,  per 
haps  for  such  as  I  no  peace  or  rest  ever  was  intended." 

The  young  lawyer  tried  to  offer  condolence  but  could  not 
find  just  the  right  word. 

"No,  Mr.  Simonson,"  she  continued,  "you  are  not  to 
blame  for  Harold's  act,  though  once,  when  I  called  at  your 
office,  I  thought  you  were.  How  I  despise  myself  for  my 
conduct  that  day !  I  don't  see  how  you  can  bear  the  sight 
of  me,  Mr.  Simonson.  Of  course,  you're  a  Union  man,  and 
that's  your  privilege ;  and  I  count  it  an  honor  for  you  to  be 
summoned  to  Washington  to  see  the  President,  though  Papa 
doesn't  see  it  that  way.  As  for  Harold,  it  was  Marjorie  that 
coaxed  him,  and  persuaded  him  to  go  against  us  all.  And 
all  the  while  we  were  swearing  by  the  Gildersleeves  and 
would  have  died  for  them.  Marjorie,  how  I  hate  her — hate 
her !  Even  if  finally  she  marries  Harold  I  shall  never  for 
give  her,  or  speak  to  her.  If  I  were  a  man  I'd  kill  her ;  if  I 
were  God  I'd  send  her  soul  to  hell.  She's  wrecked  our  home 
— O  Harold,  Harold !" 

Vergie  was  convulsed  with  grief  and  the  young  lawyer 
was  unable  to  comfort  her;  to  attempt  any  defense  of 
Marjorie  he  knew  would  be  futile. 

"But,  Miss  Culpepper,  I  not  only  desired  your  forgiveness, 
but  also — "  He  paused. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Vergie  replied,  looking  up  through  her  tears, 
"and  what  was — secondly?"  with  an  attempted  smile. 

"Your  friendship !" 

"Mr.  Simonson,  you  know  not  what  you  ask;  no,  that's 
impossible." 

"And  why  impossible,  Miss  Culpepper?" 

"Oh — first  of  all,  for  your  own  sake." 

"You  see,  I'm  selfish,  Miss  Culpepper — it  is  for  my  own 
sake  I  crave  the  boon  for  which  I  plead." 


THE  CALM  BEFORE  THE  STORM  337 

"Why?"    The  question  was  sharp  and  unexpected. 

"Well,"  for  a  moment  taken  back,  "because  I  am  inter 
ested  in  you,  like  you,  find  pleasure  in  being  with  you — be 
cause " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Simonson,"  she  broke  in  abruptly.  "You  do 
not  know  me.  They  used  to  call  me  a  'Tigress' ;  now  I  am 
called  a  'Traitress.'  You  see,  I'm  progressing.  Next  I 
suppose  I  shall  be  pointed  out  as  'Vergie,  the  Arch-Fiend.' 
No,  Mr.  Simonson,  the  gift  of  my  friendship  would  be  fatal 
to  you.  I  honor  your  manhood;  I  wish  you  well  in  every 
way ;  with  all  my  heart  I  thank  you  for  the  honor  you  have 
done  me  in  asking  for  my  friendship ;  and  now — please  help 
me  to  my  saddle  and  let  me  go." 

He  took  in  his  hand  a  dainty  foot,  barely  visible  in  .a 
white  foam  of  skirts,  and,  lightly  as  a  fawn  might  leap,  she 
vaulted  into  the  saddle. 

"But  may  I  not  see  you,  oh,  once  in  a  great  while  ?" 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation ;  then,  in  a  voice  very 
low,  "Yes — if  we  should  ever  chance  to  meet  again." 

The  horse  she  rode,  which  Dr.  Culpepper  had  brought 
from  Kentucky,  sped  away  with  a  bound.  At  the  turn  of 
the  road  she  looked  back  and  waved  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVERING'S 

/TAHE  next  afternoon  the  young  lawyer  went  around  to 
J.  Singleton's  livery  and  hired  "Selim,"  Ham's  finest 
saddle-horse. 

"Thort  y'd  quit  hossback  roidin',  Mistuh  Simonson,"  said 
the  loquacious  liveryman,  "an'  become  uh  kunfuhm'  p'dust'- 
naruh'n,  seein'  thut  yo'  walk  s'  much.  W'ich  way  yo'  gwine? 
Ef  to'hd  Springhaven  Ah  mout  g'  'long." 

"No,  Mr.  Singleton ;  I'm  going  out  the  Serepta  road,  pos 
sibly  as  far  as  Troas — will  be  back  by  evening,  however." 

"All  roight,  Mistuh  Simonson.  Ol'  Selum's  feelin'  moight' 
peart ;  skuttish  uz  th'  duvul  t'day.  Yo'll  huv  t'  look  out  f uh 
'im.  S'  long." 

The  young  lawyer  went  "out  the  Serepta  road,"  but  as 
soon  as  possible  made  a  wide  detour  and  after  a  canter  of 
six  or  eight  miles  might  have  been  seen  riding  toward  New 
Richmond.  Strange  to  say,  now  he  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all 
interested  in  Nature.  The  short-billed  marsh  wren,  the 
warbling  flycatcher,  the  Bohemian  chatterer,  and  other  birds 
common  to  that  section  sent  cascades  of  song,  rippling  and 
trilling,  through  the  woods ;  from  the  zenith  came  the  clarion 
boom  of  the  belated  wild  migrating  swan  pursuing  with  un 
erring  flight  its  pathless  way  to  summer  climes;  rabbits 
raced  across  the  road ;  chipmunks  playfully  scampered 
among  the  leaves ;  and  squirrels  barked  and  whisked  from 
tree  to  tree — but  to  all  these  he  was  oblivious.  He  was  a 
confirmed  nimrod,  but  no  sanguinary  passion  was  awakened 

238 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVEEING 'S  239 

by  the  sight  of  a  pair  of  wild  turkeys  not  a.  hundred  yards 
away.  There  had  been  music  to  his  ears  in  the  sound  of 
falling  nuts,  the  distant  caw  of  crows,  the  long  low  cry  of 
the  titlark,  and  the  high  clear  note  of  the  robin  redbreast; 
but  now  they  were  all  unheeded.  His  horse  leaped  across  a 
narrow  stream ;  he  saw  it  but  did  not  think  to  apostrophize 
it — its  poetry  and  music  had  vanished  with  the  naiads  and 
dryads  with  which  only  the  day  before  he  had  held  high 
communion.  No ;  he  had  not  lost  his  love  of  Nature,  or  his 
passion  for  the  beautiful,  the  unique,  the  sui  generis,  the 
mysterious  and  inexplicable,  but  he  had  found  all  these  ele 
ments,  plus  intelligence,  plus  articulate  speech,  plus  emotion, 
plus  fascination,  plus  a  something  men  have  always  recog 
nized  but  which  no  man  ever  has  been  able  do  analyze  or 
explain — he  had  found  all  these  in  one  marvelous  composite 
personality. 

He  had  no  appointment  with  Vergie  Culpepper — he  rather 
thought  she  would  not  come;  and  yet — maybe  she  would. 
It  was  a  bare  possibility  and  he  acted  upon  it.  Presently 
he  left  the  highway  and  rode  to  a  certain  buckthorn  tree. 
No,  she  hadn't  been  there.  Gladly  he  recalled  all  that  had 
occurred  the  day  before  and  was  thankful  that  he  had  had- 
pened  to  pass  that  way  when  he  did — glad,  of  course,  wholly 
on  the  young  lady's  account.  He  was  sorry  he  had  used  pro 
fanity,  and  had  seemed  callous  and  hard-hearted,  but  was 
glad  that  at  last  she  had  yielded  and  permitted  him  to 
rescue  her  from  her  painful  position  and  entanglement. 
There  was  a  slight  thrill  when  he  recalled  that,  for  a  brief 
moment,  she  had  put  her  arms  about  him;  and  that,  for 
another  brief  moment,  he  had  actually  held  her  in  his  arms. 
Of  course,  it  had  meant  nothing,  for  they  were  not  lovers, 
not  so  much  as  friends — she  herself  had  said  so  most  em 
phatically,  had  even  given  cogent  reasons  why  they  never 
could  be  friends.  And  did  a  Culpepper,  once  having  taken 


240  AMERICANS  ALL 

a  position,  ever  change?  The  whole  world  answered, 
"Never!"  Nevertheless  he  could  not  keep  from  recalling  her 
face,  her  lithe  and  supple  form  so  tall  and  graceful,  her 
wealth  of  brilliant  blue-black  hair,  her  rich  oriental  com 
plexion,  and  her  milk-white  teeth  laughing  through  a  pair 
of  cnpid-bow,  cherry-red  lips,  her  wonderful  eyes,  her 
shapely  hands  and  arms,  a  dainty  foot  roguishly  peeping  out 
from  a  billowy  foam  of  skirts,  her  rich  dark-green  riding 
habit,  fitting  her  perfectly,  and  the  jaunty  hat  she  wore  with 
its  dash  of  red  and  green,  and  a  snow-white  aigrette.  Lost 
in  meditation,  he  was  brought  back  to  sentient  realities  by 
the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  a  voice  saying, 

"When  holy  and  devout  religious  men 

Are  at  their  beads,  'tis  hard  to  draw  them  thence ; 
So  sweet  is  zealous  contemplation." 

"Is  that  'Quoth  Horace,'  Miss  Culpepper  ?"  the  young  law 
yer,  turning,  laughingly  inquired. 

"No,  that's  quoth  a  greater  than  Horace,  though  I  sus 
pect  you'd  have  hard  work  convincing  Papa.  Don't  you  re 
call  your  Richard  the  Third?" 

Vergie,  after  a  little  badinage,  said :  "I'll  be  honest  with 
you;  I  came  on  purpose,  and  I  should  have  been  greatly 
disappointed  had  I  not  found  you  here.  You  see,  I  so  much 
wanted  to  know  if  you  had  heard  from  Harold,  and  yester 
day  I  was  so  excited  I  forgot  to  ask  you." 

For  some  reason  the  elation  excited  by  the  first  part  of 
her  speech  had  entirely  subsided  by  the  time  she  had  reached 
the  end  of  the  latter  part.  However,  he  reflected,  that  she 
had  come  at  all,  regardless  of  the  reason,  was  something. 
It  indicated  that,  to  some  extent  at  least,  there  was  between 
them  an  entente  cordiale;  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  be  with 
her  again.  He  was  sorry  he  was  unable  to  give  her  any 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVERING 'S  241 

tidings  of  her  brother,  but  tried  to  assure  her  by  reminding 
her  that  he  had  been  gone  only  a  trifle  over  a  month;  also 
that  he  might  have  written  to  her,  indeed  probably  had,  and 
the  letter  in  transmission  had  been  lost. 

The  interview  was  brief,  and  to  the  young  lawyer  unsat 
isfactory.  Still  among  the  many  reasons  she  urged  why  she 
could  not  remain  longer  there  was  one  reason  that  had  in  it 
a  measure  of  comfort :  "If  we  are  to  have  these  little  tcte-a- 
tetes  we  must  exercise  great  caution ;  for  I,  on  the  one  hand, 
in  having  anything  to  do  with  you,  am  a  very  disobedient 
daughter ;  and  you,  on  the  other  hand,  in  associating  with  a 
Ctilpepper,  are  running  a  very  great  risk." 

Simonson  regretted  that  he  was  under  the  ban  at  The 
Elms,  for  which,  however,  he  could  not  blame  her  father, 
though  her  father  was  entirely  in  error  regarding  his  com 
plicity  in  influencing  his  son  to  espouse  the  Union;  but 
he  could  not  understand  what  peril  he  encountered  in  asso 
ciating  with  whomsoever  he  pleased.  Indeed,  he  declared 
that  he  would  joyfully  welcome  any  peril  that  would  enable 
him  to  prove  how  sincerely  he  prized  her  friendship  and 
how  much  he  desired  to  possess  it. 

Vergie  did  not  seem  to  note  the  latter  part  of  his  speech, 
but  to  the  first  part  replied :  "Ah,  Mr.  Simonson,  you  do  not 
know  your  Union  friends  as  well  as  we  do.  Papa  is  bold 
and  outspoken,  so  they  call  him  a  'fire-eater.'  But  your 
Nosses  and  Blaveys,  though  velvet-mouthed  and  satin  - 
voiced,  at  heart  are  just  as  bitter,  and  possibly  even  more 
determined.  Caesar  was  not  afraid  of  the  'fire-eaters,'  but  of 
certain  men  who  were  very  silent  and  circumspect ;  and  when 
he  fell  it  was  not  at  the  hand  of  a  'fire-eater,'  open  and  above 
board  like  Papa,  but  by  the  hand  of  a  certain  Mr.  Brutus, 
who  had  always  exercised  the  greatest  discretion,  and  was 
Rome's  most  lauded  mirror  of  fashion.  I  never  could  read 
Csesar's  'et  tu  Brute'  without  weeping,  and  wishing  I  had 


AMERICANS  ALL 

been  there  to  hold  in  my  lap  the  dying  man's  head  and 
whisper  in  his  ears  a  woman's  word  of  comfort,  or — to  have 
avenged  his  death!  Mr.  Simonson,  is  a  word  to  the  wise 
sufficient  ?  But  lest  one  of  my  words  would  not  be  sufficient 
to  convince  you  I  have  been  prodigal  with  words,  foolishly 
so  perhaps."  She  was  laughing  now,  and  the  young  lawyer 
could  not  refrain  from  laughing  with  her. 

She  gathered  up  the  reins  to  depart,  when,  as  an  after 
thought,  she  said,  "This  is  not  'Addio,'  Mr.  Simonson,  as  it 
seemed  to  be  yesterday,  but  'A  rivederci';  not  'Adieu,'  but 
'Au  revoir,'  not  'Farewell  forever,'  but  'Good-bye,  I  shall  see 
you  again  soon.' " 

The  young  lawyer  looked  puzzled,  and  she  added,  "Of 
course,  I  shall  see  you  at  Uncle  Joel  Levering's  this  eve 
ning." 

"But  I  thought  you  no  longer  went  out,  Miss  Vergie ;  be 
sides  I'm  sure  I  shall  not  be  invited  to  the  Levering's." 

"Uncle  Joel  Levering's,"  she  replied,  "is  the  one  place  in 
New  Richmond  to  which  all  creeds  and  political  faiths  can 
go  without  prejudice  and  with  safe  conduct  both  ways." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Simonson,"  she  continued,  "he  is  one  of 
those  Lord  Brougham  characters,  able  to  bring  together 
under  one  roof  the  most  violent  opposing  factions,  yet  by 
the  force  of  his  character  and  personality  prevent  an  out 
break.  Papa  thinks  he  ought  to  be  made  President  of  the 
Heaven  and  Hell  Amalgamation  Society,  should  such  a  so 
ciety  ever  be  organized. 

"Oh,  yes,  Uncle  Joel  is  a  rebel,  through  and  through,  else 
Papa  wouldn't  allow  me  to  go  there,  but  of  the  broad-minded, 
diplomatic  sort — sort  of  a  political  tight-rope  walker.  Then 
he's  free  from  all  alarms.  His  eyes  are  defective,  so  he's 
under  no  obligation  to  enlist  and  in  no  danger  of  being 
drafted ;  he's  rich  and  is  immune  from  want ;  he's  a  high- 
minded  gentleman  and  as  such  is  above  suspicion  as  spy  or 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVEEING 'S  243 

conspirator,  not/'  seemingly  as  an  after-reflection,  "that  he'd 
ever  discriminate  against  a  man  even  though  he  were  known 
to  be  both  a  spy  and  a  conspirator." 

She  dashed  away,  leaving  (him  to  solve  a  possible  conun 
drum.  "Does  she  regard  me  as  a  spy,  a  conspirator  ?  What 
put  that  idea  into  her  head  ?  My  summons  to  Washington 
was  supposed  by  the  public  to  be  in  regard  to  the  case  against 
the  Maple  Creek  counterfeiters  which  will  be  tried,  of  course, 
in  the  United  States  Federal  Court — has  she  a  different 
opinion  ?" 

But  the  matter  did  not  trouble  him  since  she  regarded  it  so 
lightly.  Still  her  eulogy  of  Uncle  Joel  Levering,  "A  high- 
minded  gentleman,  and  as  such  is  above  suspicion  as  spy  or 
conspirator,"  would  not  be  entirely  dismissed. 

Returning  to  New  Richmond  by  the  same  circuitous  route 
by  which  he  had  gone,  he  found  on  his  table  an  invitation, 
as  Vergie  had  predicted,  to  spend  the  evening  at  the  resi 
dence  of  Joel  Levering.  His  mind  was  instantly  made  up — 
he  would  go.  Lincoln  had  told  him  to  mix  freely  with  the 
people,  to  "keep  his  weather-eye  open  and  his  mainsail-ear 
spread  to  the  breeze,"  and  to  report  to  him  from  time  to  time 
"how  things  were  going" ;  but — and  we  suspect  the  supreme 
incentive  for  going,  though  in  his  own  mind  not  justification, 
was  the  desire  to  see  Vergie  Culpepper  again. 

The  gathering  proved  to  be  both  miscellaneous  and 
heterogeneous.  All  faiths  and  factions,  religious  and  po 
litical,  were  there,  for  the  time  dwelling  together  in  peace 
and  amity — a  sort  of  armed  neutrality,  but  with  no  thought 
on  either  side  of  surrender.  Conversation  was  free  and  un 
restrained  and  anyone  was  at  liberty  to  introduce  any  sub 
ject  he  might  elect,  and  to  make  any  comment  he  saw  proper 
—but  everything  must  be  strictly  impersonal.  Statement, 
affirmation  and  argument  on  any  subject  were  not  only  per 
missible  but  desired ;  but  contention,  denunciation  and  in- 


244  AMERICANS  ALL 

nuendo  were  under  Uncle  Joel's  iron  ban.  Though  an  open 
and  avowed  sympathizer  with  the  South,  as  a  host  he  gave 
special  deference  to  the  opinions  and  arguments  of  the  most 
ardent  and  uncompromising  advocates  of  the  policy  and 
principles  held  by  Mr.  Lincoln. 

There  were  light  refreshments,  some  music,  dancing  and 
charades,  a  few  young  people's  games,  and,  of  course,  much 
general  conversation. 

"By  thuh  way,  Simonson,"  said  Hank  Gordon,  taking  a 
second  "helping"  of  cake,  "did  yer  see  Mistuh  Lincoln  w'ile 
in  Washington?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Gordon ;  it  was  on  his  invitation  I  went  to 
Washington." 

The  young  lawyer,  glancing  at  Vergie,  saw  a  danger 
signal.  She  was  afraid  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  letting  it 
be  known  he  had  even  seen  Lincoln,  much  more  had  had  a 
conference  with  him. 

"Suppose  he  wanted  you  to  accept  a  portfolio  in  his  cabi 
net."  It  was  Rod  Clarke,  meaning  to  slur  the  young  lawyer 
to  whom  recently  had  been  transferred  considerable  business 
formerly  done  by  him.  Fortunately,  however,  the  young 
lawyer  did  not  have  to  reply,  as  Abner  Wilcox  that  moment 
asked: 

"See  much  excitement  going  and  coming ;  I  mean  North 
erners  going  to  join  the  army?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Wilcox,  en  route  to  Washington  the  cars  were 
crowded." 

"W'ich  soid  d'  yer  saiy  wull  whup?"  broke  in  Nic  Tut- 
wiler.  There  was  a  low  hum  of  laughter  on  account  of  the 
abruptness  of  the  question. 

"I'm  not  saying,  Nic,"  was  the  good-natured  reply. 

"Wall,  w'ich  soid  d'  yer  think  wull  whup  ?" 

Looking  at  his  questioner  a  moment  he  replied,  "I  knoiv, 
Nic ;  hence  I  do  not  have  to  think  or  guess." 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVEEING 'S  245 

Every  eye  now  was  centered  on  the  young  lawyer,  and 
there  was  a  general  shifting  of  chairs. 

"Since  you  know  so  much,  would  you  mind  enlightening 
us  poor  devils  who  know  so  little?"  It  was  Rod  Clarke 
again. 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Clarke.  The  side  that  can  raise  the  most 
money  and  keep  the  greatest  number  of  men  in  the  field." 

"You're  mistaken,  Simonson,"  exclaimed  Voe  Bijaw. 
"Every  Southern  man  is  as  good  as  fifteen  Northern  men ; 
hence  the  North  must  raise  fifteen  times  as  much  money  and 
as  many  soldiers  as  the  South." 

"Who  says  so,  Mr.  Bijaw?" 

"Our — I  mean  President  Davis,  sir,  of  the  Confederate 
States  of  America." 

"You  may  be  right,  Mr.  Bijaw,"  replied  the  young  law 
yer,  feeling  it  was  better  to  remain  non-committal.  As 
Bijaw  was  trying  to  carry  water  on  both  shoulders,  the 
young  lawyer  was  glad  he  had  been  able  to  exhibit  him  to  the 
company  in  his  true  colors. 

Uncle  Joel  Levering  now  put  in  a  laboring  oar  and  allowed 
that  while  "every  Southern  man  mout  be  ekal  to  fifteen 
Northern  men,  'twould  take  uh  purty  husky  feller  to  handle 
fifteen  Amsden  Armentrouts." 

A  general  discussion  now  followed  in  v/hich  the  guests, 
in  smaller  groups,. freely  expressed  themselves.  It  was  no 
ticed  that  the  War-Democrats,  almost  to  a  unit,  stood  by 
McCleTlan  and  mildly  censured  Lincoln  for  "dabblin'  in 
Mac's  biznis."  Logan  was  held  in  peculiar  detestation  by 
the  "Jeff  Davis  wing,"  and  was  still  "on  probation"  with" 
the  Lincoln  following.  Ben  Butler  was  a  common  butt  of 
ridicule,  though,  in  a  way,  was  liked,  especially  by  the  young 
men  of  all  factions,  because,  as  Nic  Tutwiler  said,  "He'd 
foight  lak  hell  an'  swah  lak  uh  trooppuh."  Of  Grant  they 
didn't  think  much,  though  it  was  generally  allowed  "thut  'e 


246  AMERICANS  ALL 

wuz  uh  hail  uv  uh  foightuh  ef  thuh  c'd  unly  kup  'im  sobuh." 
Everybody  felt  sorry  for  "Old  Abe;  maint  all  roight  but 
couldn'  hold  uh  kaindle  t'  yuh  Uncle  Jaiffy."  But  Uncle 
Joel  was  of  the  opinion  that  "they'd  bettuh  wait  till  their 
chickens  was  hatched  for,"  with  a  delicious  non  sequitor, 
"yo'  kin  naivuh  tell  thuh  luck  uv  uh  lousy  cailf."  And  when 
Voe  Bijaw  spoke  exultantly,  though  with  assumed  depreca 
tion,  of  how  the  gallant  Johnny  Rebs  "he'd  whupped  hell 
ou'n  th'  Billy  Yanks  ut  Bull  Run  'n'  ut  Ball's  Bluff,"  Uncle 
Joel  took  up  the  cudgel  and  reminded  the  little  editor  how 
"a  certain  sleepy  colonel"  by  th'  name  uv  Grant  hed  knocked 
thuh  tah  out'n  'm'  ovuh  en  Missouri."  No  passion  or  preju 
dice  could  blind  Uncle  Joel  to  the  extent  that  he  couldn't 
recognize  and  appreciate  a  plain  fact. 

Vergie  and  Freda,  crossing  the  room  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Goldbeck  and  Deborah,  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  Hugh 
Grant  and  the  young  lawyer,  who  were  standing  apart.  For 
a  moment  Hugh  and  Freda,  who  were  believed  to  be  en 
gaged,  were  absorbed  in  a  whispered  colloquy. 

"Mr.  Simonson,"  said  Vergie — "no,  please  don't  shake 
hands  with  me.  That  would  make  us  appear  to  be  too 
friendly  and  would  hurt  you-7-everybody's  watching  us. 
If  you've  a  chance  you'd  better  tell  the  folks  about  talking 
over  the  counterfeiter  case  with  Lincoln.  Of  course,  that's 
not  what  you  went  to  see  him  for,  but  it  will  do  well  enough 
for  an  excuse." 

"That's  mighty  kind  of  you,  Miss  Culpepper,  to  put  me 
on  my  guard.  A  friend  could  do  no  more." 

"That'll  do,  Mr.  Simonson,"  with  a  loud  voice  and  toss  of 
her  head,  which  the  young  lawyer  knew  was  meant  to 
attract  attention  and  disarm  suspicion  that  their  relations 
were  in  any  way  cordial.  "Come,  Freda !"  in  the  same  im 
perative  manner,  and  the  two  young  men  were  left  to  them 
selves. 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVEEING 'S  24? 

"Where  do  you  stand  in  this  mix-up,  Simonson?"  said 
Hugh,  in  a  low  voice,  but  very  earnestly. 

"Why  do  you  ask?  Is  there  any  question  as  to  my  posi 
tion?" 

"Pardon  me,  I  mean  no  offense ;  but  ever  since  zee  leettl' 
moo-seek  teach-aire  cut  up  his  high  jinks  in  New  Richmond, 
making  moon-keys  of  us  all,  it  seems  that  most  everybody's 
under  suspicion,  except,  of  course,  Uncle  Joel,  Old  Amsden 
and  Quoth  Horace.  I  think  you're  straight  goods  or  I 
wouldn't  be  opening  up  to  you  the  way  I  am." 

"Thanks,  Hugh,  for  your  confidence;  but  whom  do  the 
folks  think  I  am?" 

"Oh,  opinions  vary,  but,  in  a  general  way,  the  extremists 
of  both  sides  think  you're  a  secret  agent,  playing  a  double 
game." 

"Jockeying?" 

Hugh  laughed.  "Well,  something  like  that,  Mr.  Simon- 
son." 

"I'm  sorry,  Hugh,  that  anyone  should  have  such  a  poor 
opinion  of  me.  I  live  openly  and  above-board,  and  I  despise 
all  shuffling  and  subterfuge.  Of  course,  the  best  of  people 
have  their  secrets,  possibly  even  yourself  and  Miss  Freda," 
with  a  meaning  smile,  "and  a  certain  amount  of  diplomacy  is 
not  only  allowable  but  desirable;  but  for  down-right  lying 
and  bare-faced  hypocrisy  I  have  nothing  but  contempt.  My 
inability  to  lash  myself  into  a  fury,  like  Amsden  and  Quoth 
Horace,  I  presume  does  cause  people  to  view  me  with  sus 
picion — but  that  I  can't  help.  I  am  not  obsessed,  like  Mr. 
Lincoln,  by  any  one  great  idea,  nor  am  I  wedded,  like  Mr. 
Davis,  to  a  great  and  much  debated  institution,  but  am  a 
lawyer,  detached ;  hence  as  a  lawyer  I  have  been  trained  to 
weigh  evidence,  and  this,  Hugh,  I  have  done." 

"And  the  result?" 

"Legally  the  South  is  right;  ethically,  progressively,  to 


248  AMERICANS  ALL 

keep  in  rhythm  with  the  forward  march  of  civilization  the 
North  is  right." 

"And  you,  Mr.  Simonson,  stand  for ?" 

"The  ethical,  Hugh ;  for  progress,  for  the  best  and  high 
est  civilization.  But  how  to  attain  to  the  best — 'ay,  there's 
the  rub must  give  us  pause.'  If  the  Davises  and  Jack- 
sons  and  Johnstons  and  Lees  were  base,  vile  men,  our  per 
plexity  would  not  be  so  great ;  but  they  are  not — they  are  as 
honest,  conscientious,  patriotic  and  God-fearing  as  the 
North.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  Lincolns  and  Sewards 
and  Greeleys  and  McClellans  and  Shermans  and  Logans 
were  pre-eminently  pious,  devout  and  God-fearing,  then  the 
problem  would  be  less  difficult  of  solution.  Take  it  in  this 
community,  Hugh,"  continued  the  young  lawyer,  "I  confess 
that  I  prefer  the  Southerners  to  the  Northerners." 

"To  whom  are  you  now  referring,  Mr.  Simonson  ?"  There 
was  a  humorous  gleam  in  Hugh's  eyes,  but  the  young  lawyer 
was  too  earnestly  engaged  discussing  a  difficult  problem  to 
observe  it. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know,"  carelessly,  the  smile  yet  lingering  in 
his  eyes,  "but  it  might  be  Miss  Vergie  or  Miss  Marjorie. 
But  please  go  on,  Mr.  Simonson." 

"There's  not  much  to  add,  Hugh.  When  it  comes  to  hon 
esty,  piety,  learning,  culture,  high  principles,  undaunted 
courage,  and  a  sort  of  sanctified  recklessness  that  scorns  all 
consequences  in  maintaining  the  right,  or  assailing  the 
wrong,  according  to  the  light  he  has,  where  can  you  find 
the  equal  of  Dr.  Fairfax  Culpepper?" 

"Then  you  don't  think  much  of  the  Lincoln  following?" 
Hugh  Grant  was  mystified  and  showed  it  in  his  voice. 
"You're  a  Union  man  and  yet  are  not  wholly  allied  with  the 
advocates  of  the  Union." 

"You're  not  a  clear  thinker,  Hugh.  I'm  undivorceably 
and  indissolubly  allied  with  them  so  far  as  principles  are 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVEEING 'S  249 

concerned — I  simply  do  not  share  their  bitter  prejudices 
and  unreasoning  assumptions.  I  feel  that  men  of  the  Dr. 
Culpepper  class  are  just  as  honest,  just  as  upright,  just  as 
worthy  of  respect  and  consideration  as  we  are,  only — they 
are  mistaken."  Then,  looking  across  to  where  old  Joel 
Levering  was  holding  forth,  he  added,  "What  a  lovable 
man  our  host  is,  the  very  salt  of  the  earth,  and  yet  the 
Armentrouts  and  Nosses  and  Blaveys,  all  good  men,  mark 
you,  would  like  to  hang  him  to  the  nearest  lamp-post." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Fred  Gildersleeve  and  Lela 
Frothingay,  approaching,  wanted  to  know  if  they  were 
"plotting  against  the  Whites";  and  Dr.  Boynton,  joining 
them,  jocularly  inquired  if  they  knew  that  "Richmond  had 
fallen  and  that  Old  Abe  had  proclaimed  himself  Dictator," 
a  standing  New  Richmond  joke. 

Presently,  however,  they  passed  on  and  the  young  lawyer 
very  earnestly  said,  "Hugh,  where  do  you  stand?  Turn 
about  is  fair  play,  you  know ;  you  asked  me  and  now  I  re 
turn  the  compliment.  Where  do  you  stand  ?" 

"Damned  if  I  know,  Simonson." 

"Thank  you,  Hugh."  Simonson  liked  Hugh  Grant.  He 
was  so  blunt  and  straightforward.  "Thank  you,  old  man," 
he  repeated.  "I  admire  your  piety,  even  if  I  can't  compre 
hend  your  wisdom."  They  both  laughed  outright. 

"Simonson,"  the  young  man  began  slowly,  now  evidently 
very  much  in  earnest,  "I  like  you  and  believe  in  you — you're 
straight  goods.  What  you  say,  too,  I  more  than  half  be 
lieve.  It  doesn't  seem  right  to  me  to  bust  up  the  Union 
simply  because  a  few  Southern  slaveholders,  and,  compara 
tively,  there's  but  a  handful  of  them,  can't  have  their  own 
sweet  way.  On  the  other  hand,  the  niggers  belong  to  them 
and  I  don't  like  the  way  the  Black  Abolitionists  talk.  Then, 
again,  I'm  a  Democrat,  and  to  force  a  government  on  a  peo 
ple,  not  only  without  their  consent  but  actually  over  their 


350  AMERICANS  ALL 

protest,  as  the  Abe  Lincoln  government's  trying  to  do  down 
South,  naturally  causes  my  gorge  to  rise.  In  fact,  Simonson, 
and  you'll  pardon  me  for  saying  it,  it  seems  to  me  a  damned 
outrage.  Still  'there  are  mitigating  circumstances,'  as  you 
lawyers  say,  and  this  'ethical,  progress,  higher  civilization' 
line  of  talk  you  hand  out  always  impresses  me ;  and  I'll  be 
honest  with  you,  sometimes  'thou  almost  persuadest  me  to  be 
a  Christian' — for  that's  about  what  it  comes  to  with  these 
Abe  Lincoln  Republicans.  Though  I  will  say  for  you,  Sim 
onson,  you're  an  exception  to  the  rule ;  for,  in  old  Amsden's 
sight,  'not  to  be  a  Republican  is  to  be  a  hell-ion,'  to  use  the 
amiable  expression  he  so  often  uses. 

"But,  Simonson,  were  I  ever  so  soundly  convinced,  what 
could  I  do?  There's  Father.  Do  you  suppose  Jedediah 
Grant,  grandest  old  man  that  ever  lived,  would  consent  to 
his  son's  taking  up  arms  against  the  Southern  Confederacy? 
Never !  Mother's  not  so  set  in  her  ways ;  in  fact,  sometimes 
I  think  she's  half  in  sympathy  with  the  North — you  see 
mother's  sister  Annie  married  a  Chicago  Board  of  Trade 
man — but  father?  Why,  he's  so  stiff  and  straight  for  seces 
sion  he  actually  bends  back  over  his  heels.  Sometimes  I 
think  he's  coming,  till  I  see  him  turn  a  corner  and  realize 
that  he's  a-going.  No,  Jedediah,  the  unterrified  and  uncom 
promising,  would  never  give  his  consent. 

"  'Why  not  go  as  Harold  Culpepper  went  ?'  perhaps  you're 
saying.  Oh,  no!  I'll  tell  you,  Simonson,  there's  a  spice  of 
deviltry  in  all  the  Culpeppers.  'They're  the  Morgan  breed 
of  folks/  as  Lige  Ferris  says — their  muscles  are  too  sinewy, 
and  their  blood's  too  red  and  fiery.  Handsome,  too !  Vergie 
over  there  always  takes  my  breath,  she's  so  unreasonably 
stately  and  beautiful.  No,  Simonson,  I  could  never  go  back 
on  father  and  mother,  not  even  if  the  whole  Ship  of  State 
were  on  fire — father  and  mother  first,  if  you  please !" 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVERING 'S  251 

"Then,"  pausing  a  while  as  if  in  contemplation,  "there's 
Freda." 

"Yes,  Hugh,"  said  the  young  lawyer,  wondering  how 
Uncle  Joel's  daughter  viewed  the  situation. 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Simonson,  though  'mum's'  the 
word.  Freda  and  I  are  engaged ;  have  always  been  engaged, 
I  reckon — just  like  Harold  and  Marjorie." 

"And  Freda  stands  in  your  way?"  queried  the  young 
lawyer,  afraid  Hugh  might  think  it  best  to  say  nothing 
more.  "Of  course,  Freda  agrees  with  her  father  in  every- 
ing,"  with  a  slightly  rising  inflection. 

"No,  there's  where  you're  off,  old  man ;  in  fact,  I'm  at  sea 
myself.  Freda  always  keeps  me  guessing,  but  this  time  I'm 
up  a  stump  for  sure.  Sometimes  she  brags  up  Jeff  Davis, 
and  Bob  Toombs,  and  that  son  of  the  right  hand  Benjamin, 
and  the  old  man  Rhett,  and  Raphael  Semmes,  and  Peter 
Beauregard,  till  I  think  she's  worse  than  old  Joel.  Then  she 
laughs  and  calls  me  such  'a  dear  old  silly/  and  I  see  that 
.she's  been  'playing  horse'  with  me  all  the  time.  Then,  again, 
she'll  take  just  the  opposite  course  and  you'd  think,  to  hear 
her  talk,  that  Abe  Lincoln  was  a  sort  of  second  Jesus  Christ, 
and  his  cabinet  ministers  archangels,  and  the  Republican 
platform  the  whole  Bible  in  epitome,  and  Union  folks  the 
salt  of  the  earth,  only  to  find,  at  last,  that  I've  been  jiggered 
again." 

"But,  Hugh,"  the  young  lawyer,  greatly  amused,  broke 
in,  "all  in  all,  taking  everything  into  consideration,  and  other 
things  being  equal,  and  reducing  everything  to  the  last 
analysis " 

"Oh,  hel-up !  hel-up !"  cried  Hugh,  in  mock  despair,  at  the 
same  time  making  a  ludicrous  grimace. 

"Where  does  Freda  stand?" 

"Like  an  angel  in  the  sun,  sir,  and  all  the  constellations 
rejoice  to  do  her  homage !" 


252  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Very  fine,  Hugh,"  replied  the  young-  lawyer,  amused  at 
the  young  fellow's  enthusiasm. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  that's  not  half  enough,  but  you  see  I  can't 
turn  out  those  'mellifluous  felicities  and  exquisitenesses,'  and 
'Oh,  me  darlin's,  me  darlin's,'  the  way  you  professional  jaw- 
smiths  do.  But  on  the  level,  Simonson,  1  sometimes  think 
Freda's  more  than  half  a  Unionist." 

Edythe  Fernleaf,  a  grass  widow — who  introduced  in 
Raleigh  County  a  new  style  of  spelling,  and  the  divorce  habit, 
she  being  the  only  divorcee  in  the  county — now  came  up, 
informing  them  that  the  "postoffice"  was  open,  and  specially 
insisting  that  Mr.  Simonson  should  inquire,  for  she  was 
certain  there  was  a  letter  for  him.  At  the  same  time  she 
appropriated  Hugh  Grant  and  bore  him  away,  much  to  Miss 
Freda's  disgust. 

Going  to  the  "post  office"  in  the  adjoining  room,  and 
stooping  low  to  the  "general  delivery  window,"  the  young 
lawyer  was  surprised  to  find  the  lady  postmaster  was 
Marjorie  Gildersleeve.  Rapidly  looking  through  a  large 
number  of  "letters,"  Marjorie  turned  and  said,  in  Mamie 
Well's  stereotyped  manner,  which  was  the  talk  of  the  town : 

"No,  Mr.  Simonson,  nothing  at  all,  nothing  at  all.  Knew 
you  were  looking  for  mail,  yes,  but  there's  nothing  at  all. 
Sorry,  but  there's  no  mail  for  you."  It  was  all  very  funny, 
and  the  young  lawyer,  taken  by  surprise  at  the  manner  and 
phraseology  of  her  reply,  forgot  a  very  gallant  speech  that 
had  been,  an  instant  before,  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  Then 
with  a  sudden  accession  of  feeling,  which  Marjorie  quickly 
noted,  and  which  caused  her  to  lower  her  glance : 

"It  is  not  male  I  want ;  it  is — is — one  of  the  opposite  sex. 
And  I  know  I  have  come  to  the  right  place,  and  that  she  is 
here." 

With  a  low  voice,  not  trusting  herself  to  look  up,  she 
replied,  "What  we  want  and  what  we  need,  Mr.  Simonson, 


AN  EVENING  AT  JOEL  LEVEEING 'S  353 

may  be  quite  different  and  entirely  unrelated  things  or  per 
sons.  It  is  so  easy  for  one  to  be  mistaken ;  and  even  the  de 
sire,  once  granted,  might  pall  in  a  day,  so  fickle  is  the  human 
heart  and  so  shifting  are  the  tastes  of  men.''  Then,  seeing 
his  sore  disappointment,  she  gently  added,  "And,  Mr.  Simon- 
son,  you  should  remember  that  the  denier  often  is  far  un- 
happier  than  the  one  denied;  for  it  is  such  a  happiness  to 
give  when  the  whole  heart  joyfully  accompanies  the  gift. 
You  know  what  the  Good  Book  says." 

Others  now  were  clamoring  for  their  "mail,"  and  the 
young  lawyer  regretfully  turned  away.  Passing  to  the  next 
room,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Vergie  Culpepper.  She 
was  going  home,  she  said,  and  was  waiting  for  Calhoun 
Levering,  her  escort.  She  looked  like  some  Goddess  of  the 
Night.  Her  eyes  had  all  the  radiancy  of  the  stars.  Her 
deep  passionate  contralto  voice  set  all  his  nerves  a-tingle. 
Her  hand  at  parting  added  a  touch  of  fire.  Even  after  she 
had  gone  her  presence  seemed  to  remain  and  to  fill  the 
room. 

"Are  there  two  of  me?"  he  said  to  himself.  "And  am  I 
in  love  with  two  women?"  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  heart 
poly  gamy  f  Are  there  two  kinds  of  love,  the  one  spiritual, 
and  the  other  material?  And  am  I  responsible  for  this 
inward  susceptibility  to  both  ?  And  is  it  base  in  me  to  con 
fess, 

"  'How  happy  I  could  be  with  either, 
Were  t'other  dear  charmer  away'  ?" 

Angry  with  himself,  disgusted,  he  bade  his  host  and 
hostess  good-night. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SECRET  SOCIETIES  IN  SOUTHERN  ILLINOIS — A  PILGRIMAGE 

THUS  far  hope  had  been  entertained  that  the  war,  with 
all  its  attendant  horrors,  would  soon  be  over ;  but  with 
the  advent  of  the  new  year  it  became  evident  that  no  com 
promise  or  conciliation  was  possible.    The  clans,  both  North 
and  South,  were  gathered  and 

"Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 
With  Ate  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell, 
Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry  'Havock,'  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war." 

Now  a  backward  glance  revealed  the  fact  that  from  the 
day  of  Lincoln's  election,  elected  wholly  by  Northern  States, 
war  had  been  inevitable ;  and  that  from  the  Lincoln-Douglas 
Debate  and  John  Brown's  Raid  at  Harper's  Ferry  the  South 
had  been  sternly  preparing  to  submit  all  her  grievances  to- 
the  arbitrament  of  the  sword — the  writer  chances  to  know 
from  Jefferson  Davis'  own  lips  that  the  President  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy  never  for  a  moment  doubted  but  the 
withdrawal  from  the  Union  of  the  Southern  States  would 
result  in  war;  and  Mr.  Lincoln's  utterances  leave  no  doubt 
but  he  was  equally  convinced,  long  before  he  left  Spring 
field,  that  he  would  be  able  to  retain  and  maintain  the  terri 
torial  integrity  and  the  administrative  entity  of  the  Federal 
Government  only  by  a  resort  to  arms ;  and  that  he,  Lincoln, 
had  grimly,  though  reluctantly,  resolved  not  to  shrink  from 

254 


SECRET  SOCIETIES  355 

the  ordeal,  however  fierce  it  might  be,  and  "if  God  wills  that 
it  continue  until  all  the  wealth  piled  by  the  bondman's  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  of  unrequited  toil  shall  be  sunk,  and 
until  every  drop  of  blood  drawn  with  the  lash  shall  be  paid 
by  another  drawn  with  the  sword,  as  was  said  three  thousand 
years  ago,  so  still  it  must  be  said,  'The  judgments  of  the 
Lord  are  true  and  righteous  altogether'  .  .  .  with  firm 
ness  in  the  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  let  us 
strive  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in." 

During  the  months  of  his  presidency  the  "Railsplitter"  had 
also  revealed  an  unexpected  trait  of  character  clearly  pro 
phetic  of  the  course  he  would  pursue  and  the  length  to 
which  he  would  go;  also  lifting  the  curtain  that  hid  from 
the  gaze  of  both  North  and  South  an  unescapable  bloody 
future — a  will  as  inflexible  as  Cromwell's  and  a  purpose,  re 
lentless  as  fabled  Fate's,  to  bring  back  the  States,  and  to 
free  the  slaves;  and  that  to  accomplish  this  he  would  if 
necessary,  like  another  Cromwell,  seize  all  the  reins  of  gov 
ernment,  rewrite  the  Constitution,  under  the  plea  of  "mili 
tary  necessity"  enact  his  own  laws,  and,  in  short,  himself 
be  the  Government.  By  the  suspension  of  the  writ  of  habeas 
corpus  he  had  already  usurped  a  prerogative  of  Congress, 
defied  the  Federal  Judiciary,  and  clothed  the  Presidential 
office  with  undreamed  of  prerogatives,  himself  exercising  all 
the  prerogatives  of  the  Legislative,  the  Judicial,  and  the 
Executive.  "The  plain  truth  was  that,"  as  one  of  the  Presi 
dent's  most  ardent  defenders  explained,  "many  things  not 
permitted  by  the  Constitution  must  be  done  to  preserve  the 
Constitution."  But  the  nation  was  none  the  less  shocked, 
not  so  much  by  the  isolated  act  itself  as  by  the  revelation  of 
what  it  must  now  expect,  namely,  war,  relentless  war,  war 
to  the  last  dollar  and  to  the  last  drop  of  blood,  war  to  the 
death  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  or  to  the  last  gasp  of  the 
Federal  Government. 


256  AMERICANS  ALL 

With  the  new  year  came  the  Bismarckian  War  Secretary 
Stanton,  man  of  blood  and  iron,  who  always  seemed  to  both 
fear  and  hate  Lincoln,  the  only  man  he  ever  did  fear  and 
who,  strangely  enough,  was  the  last  to  look  into  Lincoln's 
living  eyes,  and  in  that  moment  utter  Lincoln's  greatest 
eulogy :  "Now  he  belongs  to  the  Ages" ;  and  with  Stanton's 
coming  an  electric  thrill  went  through  the  whole  War  De 
partment.  But  even  Stanton  was  less  relentless  than  Lin 
coln,  except  when  Lincoln's  sympathies  were  touched  by  a 
personal  appeal  and  to  exercise  clemency  would  not  affect 
his  progress  toward  the  goal  toward  which  his  face  was 
unalterably  set. 

In  the  East  there  was  an  immediate  aggressivity.  Burn- 
side  took  command  of  the  Department  of  North  Carolina, 
Roanoke  Island  was  seized,  Newbern  fell,  Fort  Pulaski  suc 
cumbed,  Beaufort  was  occupied,  and  the  Eastern  seaboard 
became  a  prison  wall  to  the  Confederacy. 

In  the  West,  Grant  was  forging  to  the  fore.  Forts  Henry 
and  Donelson  yielded  to  his  pounding,  New  Madrid,  Island 
No.  10,  and,  finally,  Shiloh. 

The  navy,  too,  felt  the  surge  of  the  new  regime.  The 
Monitor,  by  a  single  combat  d  outrance,  worsted  the  Merri- 
mac,  the  Confederate  terror,  while  only  a  month  later  Farra- 
gut,  lashed  to  the  mast,  had  sailed  victorious,  through  a 
tempest  of  flame  and  destruction,  to  the  city  of  New  Or 
leans,  and  hoisted  over  the  mint  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

All  Southern  Illinois  was  stirred  by  these  mighty  move 
ments,  all  of  them  so  adverse  to  the  hopes  and  prayers  of 
the  Southern  element;  and  nowhere  was  there  greater  bit 
terness  felt  than  in  New  Richmond.  And  to  think  that 
their  own  townsmen,  Noss  and  Blavey,  had  persuaded  many 
of  the  very  flower  of  Raleigh  County's  young  manhood  to  go 
to  the  war!  And  Logan,  for  whom  they  had  often  voted, 
was  now  in  high  command  in  the  Union  army;  and  that, 


SECEET  SOCIETIES  257 

altogether,  there  now  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  forty 
regiments  of  Illinois  men  fighting  under  the  standard  of  the 
Galena  tanner. 

Even  the  War  Democrats  were  far  from  being  happy. 
They  knew  they  were  distrusted  by  their  Union  colleagues, 
and  were  scorned  by  their  former  confederates.  Besides, 
to  lawyers,  like  Judge  Gildersleeve,  the  new  legislation  by 
Congress  was  regarded  as  being  revolutionary,  while  Mr. 
Lincoln's  acts  were  profoundly  alarming. 

But  to  Southern  sympathizers,  like  Dr.  Culpepper  and 
Jedediah  Grant,  each  day  brought  a  fresh  crucifixion.  For 
tunately,  Jedediah  Grant  possessed  a  happy  optimism  and  a 
saving  sense  of  humor — in  short,  he  was  more  a  man  of  the 
world  and  had  the  sportsman's  disposition,  the  temper  of  a 
soldier  of  fortune ;  hence  he  could  be  a  good  loser  whether 
the  stake  was  great  or  small. 

Not  so  Dr.  Culpepper.  He  could  not  bend ;  he  could  not 
retreat;  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  compromise.  This 
possibly  was  due  to  a  double  strain  of  Indian  blood;  for, 
besides  the  blood  of  Pocahontas,  the  royal  founder  of  the 
F.  F.  V.'s,  two  hundred  years  later  at  Cumberland  Gap, 
as  the  Culpeppers  were  gradually  following  the  tide  of 
civilization  westward,  a  Culpepper  had  married  another  In 
dian  princess,  Zohanozoheton — Herald  of  Dusk  and  Dawn — 
so  named  because,  though  her  coming  was  heralded  at  Dusk, 
she  was  not  born  till  Dawn.  She  was  the  only  child  of  the 
famous  Chief  Razometah,  who,  though  the  steadfast  friend 
of  the  whites,  was  noted  for  his  implacable  hatreds  and 
turbulent  spirit  when  smarting  under  some  real  or  fancied 
injury.  If  there  was  wanting  documentary  proof  of  the  In 
dian  ancestry  of  the  Culpeppers,  the  straight  jet-black  hair, 
eagle  eyes,  and  a  certain  Indian  terseness  and  directness  of 
speech  and  action  of  Dr.  Culpepper,  and  the  wild  beauty 


258  AMERICANS  ALL 

and  stately  bearing  of  his  daughter,  supplied  whatever  sup 
plementary  evidence  was  needed. 

Possibly,  too,  this  wild  forest  strain  in  his  blood  ac 
counted  for  Dr.  Culpepper's  passion  for  the  poet  Horace. 
Horace  lived  in  the  hill  country,  the  Sabine  Hills,  and  de 
scribes  rural  scenes,  and  the  joys  of  rural  life,  with  wonder 
ful  vividness;  Horace  frequently  went  to  war  and  sang  in 
lofty  strains  of  siege  and  battle,  of  struggles  unto  death 
and  bloody  victories ;  withal  Horace  was  a  pagan  moralist 
and  penned  some  of  the  loftiest  reflections  enshrined  in  lit 
erature;  in  short,  Horace  was  such  a  poet  as  Razometah, 
Dr.  Culpepper's  ancestor,  might  have  been,  and  uttered 
thoughts  that  stirred  and  thrilled  the  Indian  nature  that  £till 
remained  in  him. 

But  now  even  Horace  failed  him.  The  Sabine  farm,  and 
the  wars  he  celebrated,  were  too  far  away  and  too  remote 
in  point  of  time.  Moreover,  he  was  not  in  the  humor  to 
enjoy  Horatian  jests,  not  now  in  tune  with  his  philosophical 
reflections — for,  with  greater  truth  perhaps  than  the  black 
smith  realized  when  he  said  it,  "The  Doc  hez  on  his  -war 
paint  now." 

However,  there  was  a  sparcity  of  literature  that  was  to  his 
liking.  The  weekly  visits  of  Pollard's  Examiner,  published 
in  Richmond,  Virginia,  of  course,  was  eagerly  read,  but 
that  consumed  less  than  an  hour  per  week;  Memphis  and 
New  Orleans  papers  occasionally  were  received,  but  they 
were  uncertain.  A  priest  named  Father  Ryan,  a  resident 
of  Mobile,  Alabama,  published  a  volume  of  poetry.  Dr. 
Culpepper  secured  a  copy  of  it  and  read  it  carefully.  "The 
holy  father,"  was  his  only  comment,  "is  loyal  to  the  core, 
and,  doubtless,  is  a  good  man;  but  he's  too  gentle — there's 
not  enough  fire  and  blood!  A  New  Orleans  Presbyterian 
preacher,  named  A.  L.  Balmer,  issued  a  volume  of  sermons 
on  "State  Sovereignty  and  Negro  Subjection  the  Divine 


SECRET  SOCIETIES  259 

Plan."  Evidently  the  preacher  was  a  soldier  of  the  cross — 
at  war.  Reading  a  certain  sentence,  furious,  ultra-Southern, 
but  very  disjointed,  the  Doctor  laughed  and  said,  "Must 
have  broken  his  pen  here.  Ah,  I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with 
that  man;  he's  got  spunk  and  fight!"  One  book,  however, 
afforded  him  unusual  pleasure.  It  was  by  Bishop  Boak, 
of  Louisividia,  but  now  a  major-general  in  the  Confederate 
army.  It  was  entitled,  "Loyalty  to  God  and  State  the  High 
est  Duty  of  Man."  There  was  also  a  sub-title,  "Whither 
Thou  Goest  I  Will  Go." 

But  Dr.  Culpepper  now  found  his  supreme  satisfaction  in 
Old  Testament  accounts  of  how  God  "smote  his  enemies  hip 
and  thigh  and  did  break  their  teeth,"  of  night  onslaughts 
when  taunting  foes  were  put  to  the  sword  "and  the  streams 
did  flow  with  blood,"  of  the  destruction  of  Ammonites  and 
Amorites,  Hittites  and  Hivites,  Jebusites  and  Gergesites, 
along  with  cruel  persecutions  of  God's  people  by  invading 
and  subjugating  armies,  and  captivities  inflicted  because 
they  would  not  bow  the  neck  to  insolent  foes,  or  submit  to 
alien  and  blasphemous  doctrines ;  and,  finally,  David's  Im 
precatory  Psalms,  which,  however,  usually  were  reserved 
for  Sunday  reading. 

But  through  all  his  reading  of  wars  and  tumults  and 
fierce  reprisals  ever  and  anon  his  lips  would  quiver,  and  his 
heart  would  cry,  "O  my  son  Absalom,  my  son,  my  son  Absa 
lom  !  Would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O  Absalom,  my  son, 
my  son !"  In  a  moment,  however,  these  tender  emotions 
would  be  sternly  repressed  and  he'd  be  ready  to  face  the 
world  as  haughtily  and  implacably  as  Razometah,  his  an 
cestor,  had  done. 

After  the  party  at  Uncle  Joel  Levering's,  Simonson  had 
not  seen  Vergie  Culpepper.  That  night  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  no  longer  to  aspire  even  to  her  friendship.  He  was 
afraid  of  her — she  was  too  vital,  too  intense,  too  beautiful. 


260  AMEEICAN8  ALL 

Even  her  gentler  side  had  for  him  an  element  of  terror ;  for 
he  felt  she  would  not  love  like  other  women.  Her  queenly 
face  and  form  and  bearing  told  of  a  passion  which,  once 
aroused,  would  be  tumultuous  and  unappeasable.  He  could 
love  her,  of  that  he  was  certain — indeed  confessed  that,  de 
spite  himself,  he  was  already  almost  in  love  with  her.  But 
if  now  he  was  so  thrilled  by  the  simple  sight  of  her,  the 
casual  touch  of  her  hand,  the  wondrous  music  of  her  voice, 
though  uttering  only  social  platitudes  and  commonplaces, 
what  would  it  be  once  within  the  periphery  of  her  arms,  and 
in  the  unrestrained  intimacy  of  married  life;  when,  having 
rounded  out  and  perfected  the  splendor  of  her  maidenhood, 
she  had  attained  to  the  glorious  and  transcendent  ideals  of 
mature  womanhood.  His  heart  thrilled  at  the  thought,  but, 
in  the  end,  he  definitely  determined  to  banish  her  from  all  his 
future  thoughts  and  ambitions. 

Fortune  favored  him  in  this  resolution.  The  following 
day  was  tempestuous,  with  frequent  torrents  of  rain,  and 
all  out-door  life  was  abandoned.  Then  the  noon  mail 
brought  him  a  letter  from  Judge  Advocate  General  Holt, 
written  by  order  of  the  President.  It  stated  that  the  Presi 
dent  desired  him  to  make  a  tour  of  Southern  Illinois  and 
ascertain  for  him  the  drift  of  public  sentiment;  that  the 
President  requested  him  to  go  at  once,  and  that,  if  any 
thing  came  to  his  notice  of  vital  importance  demanding  in 
stant  action  he  should  report  in  person  at  Washington  im 
mediately — otherwise  one  report  by  mail  covering  the  entire 
situation  would  do ;  and  that  upon  his  return  from  his  tour 
of  investigation  he  should  confer  with  Ezra  Unkmyer,  at 
Onsted,  whom  he  was  sending  out  as  provost-marshal. 

Accordingly  he  wrote  a  civil  note  to  Vergie,  apprising 
her  that  he  was  called  away  on  legal  business.  He  felt  duty 
bound  to  do  this  much  on  account  of  his  plea  for  her  friend 
ship  and  to  save  her  the  inconvenience  and  humiliation  of 


SECRET  SOCIETIES  261 

future  trips  to  the  buckthorn  tree  with  the  thought  that  he 
was  expecting  her  and  would  be  disappointed  if  she  failed 
to  come. 

He  also  had  a  brief  conference  with  Judge  Gildersleeve, 
advising  with  him  as  to  what  course  he  would  better  pursue, 
what  alleged  business  had  brought  him  to  the  various  points 
he  designed  to  visit,  and  explaining  to  the  Judge  certain 
business  matters  concerning  which  inquiries  would  probably 
be  made  during  his  absence,  and  departed  on  the  three  o'clock 
stage. 

He  was  too  well  known  at  several  of  the  county  seats  to 
assume  any  disguise.  A  disguise  sometimes  is  useful  when 
seeking  to  learn  an  individual's  or  a  community's  secrets,  but 
the  young  lawyer  was  seeking  the  drift  of  public  sentiment ; 
hence  a  disguise  was  not  necessary.  He  therefore  assumed 
the  role  of  a  seeker  of  a  better  location  to  practice  his  pro 
fession  than  New  Richmond,  a  hail  fellow  and  in  no  hurry, 
and  by  no  means  averse  to  social  pleasure  and  gaiety.  The 
social  feature  of  the  trip  did  not  appeal  to  him ;  however,  he 
remembered  hearing  Mr.  Lincoln  remark  that  women  have  a 
special  fondness  for  political  intrigue,  Hut  are  less  cautious 
than  men  as  to  what  they  say,  and  he  must  avail  himself  of 
every  possible  source  of  information. 

In  no  respect  did  the  tour  prove  to  be  eventful.  At  Ber 
lin,  county  seat  of  Stuttgart  County,  everybody  was  for  the 
Union.  At  Bingen,  county  seat  of  Kaiser  County,  the  Union 
sentiment  was  even  stronger  than  at  Berlin.  At  hotel,  court 
house,  on  the  street,  there  was  but  one  sentiment.  "Vat? 
Vite  mit  dat,  vat  is  it,  Herr  Tavis  ?  Not  py  damsite.  Hoch 
der  Presiden' !  Ve  vite  mit  Sigel,  er  Osterhaus,  er  an'  toder 
py  dam  man  dat  vite  mit  der  Hunion !" 

However,  as  he  journeyed  toward  Cleopas,  Calhoun 
County,  the  young  lawyer  found  a  decided  drift  toward  the 
Southern  Confederacy.  Ultra  anti-administration  papers 


262  AMERICANS  ALL 

everywhere  were  in  evidence,  rabid  pro-slavery,  anti-Lincoln 
talk  was  common,  and,  what  was  still  more  significant,  young 
mothers  were  naming  their  babies  "Lee,"  and  "Davis,"  and 
"Calhoun,"  and  "Rhett,"  and  "Beauregard,"  and  one  "Rob 
ert  Toombs." 

In  these  Southern  counties,  too,  he  was  able  to  discern 
the  tremendous  impress  of  Logan's  personality.  Wherever 
he  had  gone,  even  in  the  remotest  districts,  he  had  left  a 
trail  of  light.  Those  whom  he  had  not  converted  he  had 
awed ;  some  who  had  threatened  him  he  had  taken  through 
the  "third  degree"  till  they  were  eager  to  eat  out  of  his 
hand;  and  to  timid  Union  men  he  had  imparted  both  zeal 
and  courage.  Out  of  the  "Black  Belt"  Logan  had  brought 
some  of  the  bravest  men  that  ever  followed  the  flag  and 
kept  step  to  the  music  of  the  Union.  Formerly  their  chil 
dren,  insulted  and  brow-beaten,  had  dared  only  -to  whisper 
the  parental  name,  half-ashamed  and  terror-stricken;  but 
now  they  proudly  answered,  "Yes,  father  belonged  to  Com 
pany  Blank,  Blank  Number  Regiment,  Illinois  Volunteers. 
He  gave  his  life  for  his  country  at  the  Battle  of  Shiloh," 
or  some  other  blood-emblazoned  name. 

At  Claudia,  Claudias  County,  he  found  an  agent  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy  buying  horses  and  mules  "for  the 
New  York  market."  A  short  run  up  to  Cincinnati  enabled 
the  young  lawyer  to  learn  that  at  that  point  they  were  di 
verted,  via  Cynthiana,  to  the  Confederate  army.  Returning 
to  Claudia  he  found  that  even  Union  men,  though  profess 
ing  to  hate  "the  Jeff  Davis  Government,"  were  not  averse 
to  taking  Jeff-Davis  money  for  their  stock. 

At  Rapidan,  Rapid  Anne  County,  at  a  party  given  by  a 
brother  attorney  whom  he  previously  had  met,  he  came  in 
contact  with  a  second  Felix  Palfrey,  only  he  was  not  a 
"teach-aire  of  zee  moo-zik  an' — ah,  \ang-widge',"  but,  in  this 
case,  a  naturalist.  The  young  lawyer  was  amused  at  the 


SECRET  SOCIETIES        ,  263 

credulity  of  his  host,  a  stanch  Union  man,  as  well  as  of  all 
the  guests,  but  remembered  how  all  New  Richmond,  himself 
included,  had  been  equally  gullible  the  preceding  spring  and 
summer. 

"Who  is  your  interesting  guest  ?"  inquired  the  young  law 
yer. 

"Oh,  some  lunatic  the  women  folks  have  picked  up.  Don't 
know  who  he  is — seems  to  have  escaped  from  some  museum 
or  side  show.  But  polite — guess  that's  the  reason  all  the 
women  folks  take  to  him  so.  Looks  like  a  nigger,  don't  he  ? 
Says  he  ain't,  though.  An'  yet  he's  knowin'  enough,  too. 
Worms  and  bugs  and  lizards — why  he's  out  sasshayin'  with 
the  farmers  all  over  the  country." 

Subsequently  the  young  lawyer  learned  that  emissaries  of 
the  Southern  Confederacy  were  thoroughly  patroling 
Southern  Illinois,  and  doubtless  keeping  the  Davis  Govern 
ment  fully  informed.  Some  of  them,  like  Palfrey  and  Jules 
Francois,  whom  the  lawyer  met  at  his  friend's  house  in 
Claudia,  were  gentlemen  of  the  highest  culture  and  refine 
ment.  They  posed  as  artists,  teachers,  literati,  and  gentle 
men  of  fortune.  They  were  well  dressed,  amply  supplied 
with  money,  courtly  in  bearing,  and  easily  found  their  way 
into  the  best  circles  of  the  community.  Others  were  of  the 
homespun  type,  coming  in  touch  with  traders,  artisans,  farm 
ers  and  common  laborers.  Often  Southerners  themselves, 
even  those  most  passionately  devoted  to  what  we  now  call 
the  Lost  Cause,  did  not  know  they  had  entertained  men  who 
were  in  closest  touch  with  Mr.  Davis  and  the  Government 
on  the  James. 

But  it  was  at  Sardis,  county  seat  of  Kahoka  County,  the 
young  lawyer  received  the  most  disquieting  intelligence.  It 
was  very  vague,  a  rumor  just  at  its  inception,  scarcely  more 
than  a  surmise,  yet  to  the  young  lawyer's  mind  it  was  gravely 
portentious.  Union  men  believed  it,  yet  confessed  they  did 


264  AMERICANS  ALL 

not  have  one  scintilla  of  evidence ;  on  the  other  hand,  South 
ern  sympathizers  laughed  ana  scoffed  at  their  Union  neigh 
bors,  and  declared  someone  must  have  drugged  their  bit 
ters. 

The  idea  that  had  gained  considerable  currency,  more 
than  a  surmise,  yet  somewhat  nebulous,  was  that  secret  so 
cieties  were  being  organized  in  aid  of  the  Southern  Confed 
eracy ;  that  forts,  under  the  guise  of  mammoth  tobacco  barns, 
cattle  sheds,  and  the  like,  were  being  erected  all  over  South 
ern  Illinois;  that  members  of  these  lodges  were  bound  to 
secrecy  and  obedience  with  blood-curdling  oaths;  that  they 
were  being  taught  the  manual  of  arms  and  trained  for  war ; 
that  they  were  to  replenish  the  Southern  army  as  rapidly  as 
possible  with  armed  and  thoroughly  trained  soldiers,  and, 
finally,  if  at  last  they  found  themselves  sufficiently  numerous 
and  strong  they  were  to  rise  up  openly  at  home,  subjugate 
their  neighbors,  make  them  prisoners  of  war  or  soldiers  of 
war,  on  the  Southern  side,  of  course,  and  unfurl  from  the 
cupola  of  every  courthouse  in  Southern  Illinois  the  Confed 
erate  Stars  and  Bars.  Judge  Ellery  was  the  young  lawyer's 
informant. 

"But  isn't  that  just  a  mare's  nest,  Judge  Ellery?"  asked 
the  young  lawyer. 

"Worse  than  that,  Mr.  Simonson,"  replied  the  Judge.  "I'm 
afraid  it's  a  hornet's  nest." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  possibly  all  Southern  Illi 
nois  is  honeycombed  with  these  Southern  Confederacy  aid 
societies  ?" 

"Not  only  possibly  but  altogether  probably." 

"And  that  our  next  door  neighbor,  supposed  to  be  a  stanch 
Union  man,  may  be  a  member?" 

"Certainly!    Why  not?" 

"Whom  do  you  think,  Judge   Ellery,  has  devised  this 


SECEET  SOCIETIES  265 

clever  scheme,  portentous  to  us,  but  full  of  promise  to  the 
Davis  Government?" 

"The  shrewdest  bunch  in  the  world,  the  Southern  poli 
ticians." 

"Can  you  be  more  definite,  Judge  ?" 

"Well,  Simonson,"  reflectively,  "what  about  Felix  Pal 
frey  ?  He  had  free  rein  in  Raleigh  County  about  six  months 
— do  you  have  any  idea  what  he  was  up  to  ?  Why,  he  could 
have  organized  the  whole  county  in  that  time,  and — prob 
ably  did ! 

"Then  there's  your  Jules  Francois,"  continued  the  Judge, 
"whom  you  met  at  Claudia.  You  had  no  doubt  but  he  was 
another  Palfrey;  but  was  there  anything  to  prevent  him 
from  pocketing  Claudias  County  and  walking  off  with  it? 
You  tell  me  you  have  come  across  at  least  a  score  of  these 
birds  of  passage  whom  you  believe  to  be  in  the  service  of 
the  Davis  Hades  Annex;  but  what  are  they  doing  up  here? 
Reporting  the  weather?  Forecasting  next  year's  crops? 
Asking  the  Egyptians  if  they've  found  out  yet  what  the 
Sphinx  is  thinking  about?" 

"What  you  say  looks  reasonable.  Judge  Ellery,  but  what's 
our  smart  men " 

"To  whom  are  you  now  referring,  Simonson?  Amsden 
Armentrout?"  Judge  Ellery  laughed  gleefully.  Continu 
ing,  "Good  old  Amsden — but  how  he  must  have  amused 
Palfrey!  Truth  is,  Simonson,  we've  got  right  on  our  side, 
and  we've  got  the  men  and  the  money;  and  we're  going  to 
smash  old  Jeff  and  his  bogus  government,  bag  and  baggage, 
into  a  cocked  hat.  But  we'll  have  to  do  it  by  main  strength 
and  azvkwardness.  Even  old  Abe,  and  we  all  love  him — his 
strong  point  is  not  wisdom  but  goodness.  If  your  Uncle 
Jeffy  had  been  in  Lincoln's  place  he'd  have  made  McClellan 
take  Richmond  in  thirty  days  or  he'd  have  kicked  him  out, 
by  the  Old  Harry,  and  gone  and  taken  it  himself.  And  yet, 


266  AMERICANS  ALL 

after  almost  a  year — what  ?  Why  Old  Abe  and  Georgie  are 
just  fussin'  yet,  and  Jeffy  and  Bobby  are  laughing  up  their 
sleeves.  I'm  not  a  Southerner,  Simonson.  I'm  an  English 
man,  by  way  of  Connecticut,  and  I'm  a  Union  man  from 
the  word  go,  but  I  tell  you  now  that  what  we  get  we'll  get 
by  hard  knocks.  The  South  hasn't  the  men  or  the  money, 
and  their  political  system  is  rotten.  Now  that  they've  started 
they'll  just  keep  on  seceding.  Jeffy  will  lose  some  of  his 
States — why  not? — and  Brown  and  Vance  will  lose  some 
of  their  counties,  and  counties  will  lose  townships — why  not  ? 
But  Bobby  Lee,  and  the  little  New  Orleans  rooster,  and  the 
Johnston  boys,  and  that  lean,  lank  Presbyterian  Jackson,  and 
a  few  other  Southern  officers,  with  a  handful  of  half -starved 
and  half-naked  men,  will  keep  our  big  Northern  armies  on 
the  hike,  and  guessing  many  a  day.  Simonson,  when  it 
comes  to  the  fine  Italian  hand,  and  'the  gentlemen-advance- 
and-salute-your-partners'  act,  the  Southerners  are  past  mas 
ters,  while  we  of  the  North  are  yet  cutting  out  pictures  and 
pasting  them  in  a  book  in  the  kindergarten  school." 

The  young  lawyer  very  emphatically  disagreed  with  the 
Judge  regarding  the  superior  generalship  and  statesmanship 
of  the  South,  but  was  troubled  by  his  firm  opinion  that  for 
months  disloyal  societies  were  being  organized  in  Southern 
Illinois. 

"Judge  Ellery,  where  do  you  suppose  is  the  headquarters 
of  these  Secession  Societies?" 

"Probably  not  more  than  thirty  miles  from  where  we  are 
now  sitting — over  in  your  county." 

The  young  lawyer  was  taken  back — shocked.  "What! 
do  you  mean  in  Raleigh  County?" 

"More  than  likely,"  the  Judge  calmly  replied. 

"And  in  New  Richmond  ?" 

"No — not  far  from  Thyratira ;  maybe  just  over  in  Zebu- 
Ion  County." 


SECRET  SOCIETIES  267 

"And  do  you  think  they're  in  earnest — mean  to  attack  us 
— to  help  overthrow  the  Government — to ?" 

"Do  you  suppose,  Simonson,  they're  imperiling  their  pre 
cious  necks  for  nothing — just  for  fun?  What  they're  doing, 
if  we're  not  mistaken,  is  treason — and  they  know  it  is  trea 
son.  Do  men  take  such  chances  except  when  desperate? 
And  can  anyone  predict  with  certainty  what  desperate  men 
will  do?" 

After  leaving  the  office  of  Judge  Ellery,  the  young  lawyer 
inquired  at  the  post  office  for  mail,  thinking  there  must  be 
several  letters  for  him.  There  chanced  to  be  but  two :  one 
from  Vergie  Culpepper,  the  other  from  Marjorie  Gilder- 
sleeve.  Both  were  brief.  The  one  from  Miss  Culpepper 
was  as  follows: 

"The  Elms,  Jan.  10,  1862. 

"Samuel  Simonson,  Esq. :  From  Calhoun  Levering,  who 
met  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  this  morning,  I  have  just  learned  that 
you  are  away  on  strictly  legal  business;  that  you  will  be 
away  indefinitely ;  and  that,  before  you  return,  you  may  be  in 
Claudia  and  Cleopas.  Instantly  the  thought  came  to  me: 
'As  both  Claudia  and  Cleopas  overlook  Kentucky,  maybe 
Mr.  Simonson  will  see  Harold,  of  or  from  whom,  as  yet,  we 
have  no  tidings' ;  for  possibly  Brother  has  gone  back  to 
Kentucky,  and  has  not  joined  the  Union  army  at  all.  If 
you  should  see  him,  do  not  mention  this  letter — telegraph  me 
at  once,  so  that  I  may  come  to  him !  Will  you  not  do  this 
much  for  me,  please,  even  though  I  am  a  Rebel?  You  did 
me  a  favor  once — have  you  forgotten? — but  for  which  I 
should  now  be  with  'Massa  in  the  cold,  cold  ground/  and 
that  emboldens  me  to  have  hope  that  you  will  not  decline  this 
request.  VIRGINIA  LEE  CULPEPPER. 

"P.  S. — I  have  been  to  the  buckthorn  tree  twice  since  you 
left — I'm  so  interested  in  botany!  Oh,  yes,  the  tree  reminded 
me  of  you,  and  of  ever  so  many  things  you  said,  especially 
'Dammitt' — is  it  spelled  correctly  ?  The  first  time  I  went  the 
wind  was  blowing,  and  when  Buckthorn  Tree,  Esq.,  saw  me 
he  just  bowed  and  bowed  at  me;  and  I  said  right  out  loud, 
'Oh,  Mr.  Buckthorn  Tree,  'tis  7  that  should  feel  grateful  to 


268  AMERICANS  ALL 

you;  and  I  am  so  thankful  that  I  ever  met  vow' — that  is,  the 
Buckthorn  Tree.  V.  C." 

The  other  letter,  from  Marjorie,  was  equally  charac 
teristic  : 

"The  Maples,  Jan.  10,  1862. 

"Mr.  Samuel  Simonson. — My  Dear  Friend:  Papa  is  at 
Patmos,  holding  court.  Before  leaving  home,  he  charged  me 
that,  in  case  you  did  not  return  before  this  date,  and  in  case 
he  had  not  returned  by  the  same  time,  I  should  transmit  to 
you  at  Sardis,  County  of  Kahoka,  State  of  Illinois,  the 
following  memoranda  and  affidavits,  in  Coughem  versus 
Sneezem  case,  to  wit — all  of  which  you  will  find  under  sepa 
rate  cover.  I  cannot  refrain  from  telling  you  how  proud  we 
are  of  you,  always,  of  course,  but  now  especially  so,  over 
your  latest  victory,  namely,  the  great  case  you  had  before  the 
Supreme  Court  last  autumn.  The  judges,  en  bane,  have  just 
handed  down  their  decision — in  your  favor!  The  Chief  Jus 
tice  told  Mr.  Goldbeck,  who  chanced  to  be  present,  that,  for 
lucidity  of  treatment,  cogency  of  reasoning,  legal  insight, 
exposition,  interpretation,  and  application  of  law  to  a  given 
case,  and  felicity  of  verbal  expression,  he  regarded  you  as 
being  a  very  wonderful  young  man.  Mr.  Goldbeck  was  at 
The  Maples  the  next  night  and,  when  he  told  Papa  what 
the  Chief  Justice  said  of  you,  Papa  slapped  his  knee — you 
know  he  always  does  that  when  he  gets  excited,  or  is  greatly 
in  earnest — and  said,  'Dog  my  cats!  have  they  just  found 
that  out  up  at  Springfield?'  And  Mama  and  Fred  and  I 
instantly  piped  up  and  said,  'We  knew  it  all  the  time!'  You've 
been  gone  five  weeks,  but  it  seems  ever  and  ever  so  much 
longer.  I  was  up  to  the  Gildersleeve-Simonson  office  yester 
day  to  mail  some  papers  to  Papa,  but  I  didn't  stay  very  long 
— it  was  so  lonesome.  I  wanted  to  peek  into  our  room,  but 
I  was  afraid  to.  Mama  and  Fred  say  for  me  to  tell  you  that 
they  .think  of  you  every  day,  and  that  you  must  hurry  home. 
Mama,  you  know,  always  must  have  a  little  postscript — 'And 
tell  Sammy  that  I  always  pray  for  him' — and  so  does 

"MARJORIE." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE — A  WILD  MIDNIGHT  RIDE 

IT  was  late  in  February  before  the  young  lawyer  returned 
to  New  Richmond.  He  was  glad  to  get  back  into  the 
old  groove,  and  to  resume  the  normal  routine  of  his  daily 
life.  His  reading  had  been  neglected,  his  business  inter 
rupted,  and  his  correspondence  was  greatly  in  arrears.  There 
were  friends,  too,  whom  he  was  eager  to  see :  Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve,  "the  dear  old  Judge,"  as  he  always  mentally  called 
him ;  and  Fred,  "of  the  same  high  quality  and  consistency" ; 
and  Hugh  Grant,  for  whom  he  had  a  great  liking;  and, 
finally,  Albert  and  Freda  Levering,  who  had  always  been  to 
him  very  much  as  the  Gildersleeve  young  people.  Of  course, 
there  were  others  whom  he  highly  esteemed,  despite  political 
differences,  but  the  Gildersleeves  and  Leverings  and  Hugh 
Grant  were  nearest  to  him. 

But  his  dreams  of  leisure  and  literature  and  legal  studies 
and  practice  were  not  soon  to  be  realized. 

During  his  absence  something  had  "happened."  What  it 
was,  no  one  seemed  to  know.  If  there  were  those  who  did 
know,  and  we  now  know  there  were  many  such,  no  infor 
mation  was  forthcoming.  But  the  situation  was  confessedly 
ominous ;  on  this  point  there  was  universal  agreement.  Thai 
none  was  able,  or  at  least  willing,  to  tell  just  what  it  was 
or  by  whose  aid  or  agency,  or  what  was  the  ultimate  object 
or  purpose,  did  not  tend  to  promote  public  tranquillity. 

One  thing,  however,  was  indisputable — the  very  air  was 
rife  with  sedition.  A  change  had  come  over  the  Davis  ad- 

269 


270  AMERICANS  ALL 

herents — they  were  now  bold,  assertive,  and  defiant.  South 
ern  sympathizers  no  longer  hesitated  to  express  themselves, 
and  that,  too,  in  terms  that  elsewhere  would  have  been 
regarded  as  treasonous.  Even  in  the  court  house  and  on 
the  street  the  Government  at  Washington  was  bitterly  as 
sailed,  and  the  Government  at  Richmond  was  enthusias 
tically  eulogized.  The  Reverend  Henry  Lee  Frothingay 
was  delivering  a  series  of  "patriotic  sermons,"  one  of  them 
being  on  "Anglo-Saxon  Supremacy  and  Negro  Subordina 
tion."  Across  the  street  the  Reverend  Yancey  M.  Bascom 
but  recently  had  preached  on  "Whom  Shall  We  Have  to 
Reign  Over  Us,  Biblically  Considered." 

One  day  Buck  Sandifer,  standing  in  front  of  Darnblazer 
&  Russell's  drug  store,  shouted :  "Hooray  for  Jeff  Davis 
and  good  old  Bobby  Toombs !"  Jack  Hathaway,  who  had 
fought  with  Grant  at  Belmont,  Henry,  and  Donelson,  now 
home  on  a  ten  days'  furlough,  promptly  knocked  him  down. 
The  Union  soldier  was  arrested  and  fined,  with  cost,  $18.75  5 
Buck  Sandifer  was  given  an  ovation.  Ham  Singleton  set 
up  the  drinks  all  around,  and  Nic  Tutwiler,  being  several 
sheets  to  the  wind,  tried  to  sing  "Maryland,  My  Maryland"  ; 
but,  as  he  had  the  asthma,  soon  ran  out  of  breath  and  had 
to  give  it  up. 

One  Saturday  Bill  Snodgrass,  the  leader  of  the  Mule 
Creek  Gang,  assailed  Joe  Henderson,  another  Union  sol 
dier,  badly  wounded  in  the  right  arm  and  home  on  a  fur 
lough.  The  doctors  reported  that  his  injuries  were  fatal. 
Snodgrass  was  arrested,  but  immediately  released,  over 
fifty  leading  citizens  crowding  forward  to  sign  his  bond. 

Later  on,  especially  after  the  Battle  of  Shiloh,  it  was 
observed  that  the  old  Raleigh  County  feuds  had  been  healed. 
The  "Mule  Creek  Gang"  and  the  "Thompson  Creek  Ter 
rors"  were  no  longer  at  war  with  each  other;  the  Huston 
and  Henniker,  and  the  Crickwell  and  Sneddiker  factions 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  271 

also  had  come  together  and  now  were  fraternizing.  And 
yet  from  a  time  so  remote  that  the  memory  of  man  runneth 
not  to  the  contrary  these  feuds  and  factions  had  existed; 
and  more  than  once  in  the  Court  House  Square  of  New 
Richmond,  and  on  the  streets,  had  battled  against  each  other 
unto  death. 

"Sammy,"  said  Judge  Gildersleeve  one  day,  "they  all  pull 
together.  Something  we  know  nothing  about  has  hap 
pened,  and  it's  no  little  something.  Think  of  Bill  Snod- 
grass  and  Buck  Sandifer  making  up,  and  their  two  gangs  of 
cutthroats  all  drinking  out  of  the  same  jug  and  bottle,  join 
ing  hands,  and  singing  'Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds!'  And 
going  to  church,  too !  The  Hustons  and  Hennikers,  Crick- 
wells  and  Sneddikers,  Rockwells  and  Applegates — what  do 
you  think  of  it?  Likewise,  social  barriers  have  vanished 
over  night.  Who  would  have  thought  of  Dr.  Culpepper,  and 
Joel  Levering,  and  old  Jedediah  Grant  ever  becoming  'hail 
fellows  well  met'  with  these  Mule  Creek,  and  Thompson 
Creek,  and  Piper  Prairie  desperadoes?  I  tell  you,  Sammy, 
a  master  mind  has  been  at  work,  and  the  cleverest  trick  of  a 
generation  has  been " 

"Hold  on,  Judge  Gildersleeve !    Judge  Ellery " 

"What  about  Judge  Ellery,  Sammy?"  said  Judge  Gilder 
sleeve,  looking  out  at  the  window  facing  the  public  square. 
"Do  you  see  the  Judge?" 

"No,  Judge  Gildersleeve ;  but  between  what  you've  just 
said,  and  certain  things  Judge  Ellery  told  me  when  I  was  at 
Sardia,  I  think  I  have  discovered  the  key  to  the  whole  situ 
ation. 

Judge  Gildersleeve  smiled  incredulously.  "All  right, 
Sammy,  fire  away !  Let's  have  it." 

Simon  son  then  related  the  conversation  between  him 
self  and  Judge  Ellery,  Judge  Gildersleeve  occasionally  in 
terrupting  with  a  question,  or  indulging  in  a  long,  low 


272  AMERICANS  ALL 

whistle  when  something  particularly  striking  was  narrated. 
When  the  young  lawyer  was  through,  Judge  Gildersleeve 
looked  up  and  said : 

"Sammy,  you've  hit  the  nail  square  on  the  head  the  first 
lick.  As  Abe  said  to  Douglas,  'The  parts  all  fit,  and  there's 
no  getting  around  it.'  And  Felix  Palfrey's  the  scoundrel 
that's  turned  the  trick.  And  we  all  thought  he  was  so 
funny — so  damned  innocent  and  helpless  we  all  wanted  to 
feed  him  on  stick-candy  and  loaf-sugar.  Hell !"  The  Judge 
didn't  often  swear — was,  in  fact,  a  devout  churchman — but 
just  now  his  feelings  overcame  him. 

"Sammy,  Judge  Ellery  is  right — we're  all  a  set  of  dratted 
numskulls !  Oh,  gee-whiz,  mama,  mama,  what  a  mess  we've 
made  of  everything !  Just  sat  'round  with  our  fingers  in  our 
mouths  and  let  that  little  'Oh,  yo'  zo  ver'  strenge  lang-widge 
I  cann'  spik  zo  ver'  weel'  babboon  put  Raleigh  County  in 
his  pocket  and  run  off  with  it  in  broad  daylight!  Taken 
us  right  to  Richmond,  too,  I  reckon,  if  we  hadn't  been 
such  a  set  of  simpletons  Jefry  couldn't  make  any  use  of  us ! 
'Veel  zee  Nort'  vight?'  Oh,  hell!  Fight?  We  haven't 
sense  enough  to  know  which  is  the  business  end  of  a  gun,  or 
whether  it  should  be  loaded  with  caraway  seed  or  egg  cus 
tard!  Oh,  shucks!" 

"Shucks!"  was  Judge  Gildersleeve's  expression  for  su 
preme  disgust. 

"Umph!  And  now  that  they  are  organized  to  murder 
their  neighbors,  browbeat  and  terrorize  women  and  chil 
dren,  and  lend  a  helping  hand  to  'zee  zo  ver'  fin'  Gov-ee- 
men'  oov  Mees-tot>£ — ah,  Da-vees,'  I  suppose  these  fellows, 
these — er " 

"Why  not  call  them  Copperheads,  Judge  Gildersleeve?" 
interrupted  the  young  lawyer,  amused  at  the  Judge's  wrath 
and  inability  to  find  just  the  word  he  wanted. 

"Copperhead?    Copperhead?"     The  Judge  mused  a  mo- 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  273 

ment,  flicked  a  bit  of  dust  from  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  took 
a  fresh  morsel  of  fine-cut,  and  then  slowly  said : 

"I  doggie,  Sammy,  that's  a  stroke  of  genius!  Copper 
head's  just  the  word,"  musingly.  Then:  "Copperhead — 
species,  contortrix ;  genus,  ophidia — tongue  long,  slender, 
bifid — ovoviviparous — that  is,  eggs  hatched  in  body  of  par 
ent — sulphur-brown — fangs  concealed — connect  with  gland 
filled  with  deadly  poison — forces  the  poison  along  the  fang 
into  the  wound — strikes,  repeating  the  blow  as  often  as  pos 
sible — malignant — prefers  dark  places — Southern  States  and 
northward!  Stroke  of  genius,  I  say,  Sammy!  And  that 
name'll  stick,  too,  and  they  won't  like  it,  nary  a  bit;  and 
won't  they  squirm  and  wriggle?  Copperhead!  Good!  I 
propose  that  you  be  admitted  to  the  degree  of  M.  N. — 
Master  of  Nomenclature." 

Then,  more  soberly,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "You've 
solved  the  mystery,  Sammy,  and  named  it  correctly — when 
it's  too  late.  If  we'd  only,  only,  known  enough  to've  choked 
the  gizzard  out  of  that  little  skunk  when  he  was  here,  and 
to  have  raised  the  alarm !  But  now  I  suppose  they're  organ 
ized  everywhere.  What  a  pity  our  foresight  isn't  equal  to 
our  hindsight!" 

Judge  Gildersleeve  was  right.  In  a  few  days  the  papers 
were  teeming  with  accounts  of  a  mysterious  organization 
all  over  the  North — "Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle" — hav 
ing  for  its  end  and  aim  the  destruction  of  the  Union. 

Its  power  and  influence  were  soon  apparent.  Compactly 
organized  by  thousands,  fear  was  gone,  timidity  had  van 
ished,  treason  had  become  rampant,  and  a  reign  of  terror 
had  been  inaugurated.  Union  men  were  openly  insulted, 
sometimes  beaten,  occasionally  murdered  ;  everywhere  were 
held  in  deepest  detestation,  were  assailed  v/ith  vilest  epi 
thets,  and  often  were  in  greater  peril  than  they  would  have 
been  in  the  very  heart  of  "Dixie."  Vallandigham  and  Pen- 


274  AMERICANS  ALL 

dleton,  and  later  McClellan,  were  hailed  as  heroes,  Lincoln 
was  denounced  as  a  tyrant,  while  the  Government  at  Wash 
ington  was  declared  to  be  an  usurpation  and  a  despotism — 
all  openly  and  without  reserve. 

Another  result  of  the  new  condition  was  an  almost  total 
cessation  of  enlisting,  and  this  immediately  became  a  matter 
of  grave  concern  to  the  upholders  of  the  Union.  Death  at 
the  front  was  reaping  its  grim  harvest  and  new  men  were 
constantly  being  needed  to  take  their  places ;  but  under  the 
pressure  of  the  "Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle,"  new  men 
were  not  forthcoming. 

Hence  the  Government  was  under  the  necessity  of  send 
ing  out  recruiting  officers,  "volunteers"  having  to  be  solic 
ited,  urged,  exhorted,  entreated.  It  was  very  humiliating  to 
the  Administration,  but  unavoidable. 

Of  course  the  "Copperheads"  were  in  high  glee,  and 
promised  to  make  it  "interesting"  for  the  recruiting  officers 
— which  they  did.  Only  the  coolest  and  bravest  men  were 
sent  out  by  the  Government,  but  often  the  most  daring 
quailed,  and  some  of  them  were  killed.  The  conflicts  be 
tween  revenue  officers  and  "moonshiners"  in  the  mountains 
were  only  the  interchange  of  polite  courtesies  compared  with 
what  many  recruiting  officers  in  Southern  Illinois  had  to 
encounter. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  summer,  Col.  Henry  Morton 
appeared  in  New  Richmond  and  announced  his  mission. 

"Must  be  tired  of  life,"  observed  Joe  Levering,  believed 
to  be  a  leading  member  of  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  ; 
and  indeed  it  was  no  idle  jest,  for  the  recruiting  officer  was 
courting  death.  Judge  Gildersleeve,  whose  loyalty  now  was 
unquestioned,  frankly  counseled  the  Colonel  to  "throw  up 
the  sponge";  and  even  old  Amsden,  bulldog  that  he  was, 
did  not  see  that  Colonel  Morton  could  do  anything  except 
"furnish  business  for  the  undertaker." 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  375 

Colonel  Morton  had  arrived  on  the  noon  stage  from 
Enochsburg,  and  had  been  invited  by  the  young  lawyer, 
to  whom  he  had  a  letter  of  introduction,  to  dinner;  after 
dinner,  while  yet  a  stranger  to  the  people  of  New  Rich 
mond,  he  had  met  Judge  Gildersleeve  and  Amsden  Armen- 
trout  at  the  offices  of  Gildersleeve  &  Simonson.  After 
listening  to  the  Judge's  and  the  blacksmith's  forebodings. 
Colonel  Morton  said  he  would  go  out  and  reconnoitre  a  little 
— make  a  tour  of  the  public  square — not  that  it  would  at  all 
affect  his  resolution  to  remain,  but  to  obtain  information. 
The  young  lawyer  offered  to  accompany  him,  but  the 
Colonel  preferred  to  go  alone.  He  went  after  "information" 
— and  he  got  it. 

Hiram  Goldbeck  informed  him  that  his  presence  was  a 
menace  to  the  peace  and  order  of  the  community,  and  that 
if  he  would  take  the  next  stage  out  of  town  he  would  imme 
diately  "hand  over  one  hundred  dollars."  Cooperate  with 
him?  Secretly,  yes;  openly,  no!  He  had  too  much  at 
stake. 

Voe  Bijaw  ordered  him  out  of  his  office. 

Hank  Gordon,  the  postmaster,  said,  "Foh  God's  sake,  git 
out'n  heah's  fast  ez  yo'  laigs'll  kerry  yuh!  W'y,  Ah'm 
holdin'  thiz  air  orfus  ut  thuh  par'l  o'  muh  loife!"  He  was 
secretary  of  the  local  lodge  of  the  Knights  of  the  Golden 
Circle. 

Frothingay  and  Bascom,  the  two  leading  clergymen,  told 
him  he  was  "a  deceiver  and  an  anti-Christ." 

Dr.  Boynton  said :  "Recruiting  soldiers  for  Abe  Lincoln's 
Nigger  Government,  are  you?  You  ought  to  be  hung,  and 
/'//  furnish  the  rope!  If  President  Davis  '11  send  a  recruiting 
officer,  I'll  help  him  all  I  can.  Get  out  of  my  office,  you 
sniveling  cur!" 

Colonel  Morton  quietly  replied,  "We  shall  have  some  very 
important  business  with  you  shortly,"  and  walked  out. 


276  AMERICANS  ALL 

Ham  Singleton,  winking  at  Nic  Tutwiler,  remarked  to  a 
group  of  bystanders  that  he'd  "furnish  thuh  tah  ef  thoid 
fuhnish  thuh  futhus."  The  Colonel  was  neither  blind  nor 
deaf,  but  quietly  passed  on. 

Abner  Wilcox  said :  "Colonel,  this  community's  a  hor 
net's  nest.  You'd  better  not  stir  it  up.  If  you  do,  you're 
likely  to  get  stung"  and  went  out  to  draw  a  jug  of  sorghum 
for  Edythe  Fernleaf,  the  grass-widow. 

Finally  he  went  to  the  hotel  to  engage  board.  To  say  the 
least,  Nic  was  terse  and  to  the  point :  "Thiz  heah  tuvuhn's 
foh  w'ite  folks,"  and  proceeded  to  take  another  generous 
cargo  of  "dawg-laig,"  his  favorite  brand  of  "chawin'  ter- 
backy." 

"But,  Mr.  Tutwiler,"  expostulated  the  recruiting  officer, 
"isn't  this  a  public  house?" 

"Unly  foh  w'ite  folks.  Yuh  maw  mus'  be  uh-lookin'  foh 
yuh.  Guiass  yuh'd  baituh  buh  uh-gwine." 

"But,  Mr.  Tutwiler,"  the  Colonel  now  thoroughly  amused, 
"if  I  can't  stop  with  you,  what's  to  become  of  me?  Yours 
is  the  only  hotel  in  town." 

"Doan'  know.  Ams  Ahmintrout  mout  tuk  yuh  in.  He's 
powh'ful  fond  uh  niggers." 

Sure  enough,  good  old  Ams  did  take  him  in. 

Judge  Gildersleeve  offered  Colonel  Morton  hospitality  as 
soon  as  he  learned  the  situation,  as  did  several  other  gentle 
men.  Even  Joel  Levering,  though  an  uncompromising  Se 
cessionist,  swore  like  a  pirate  when  told  how  Tutwiler  had 
insulted  a  stranger. 

"George  Washington  Napoleon  Bonaparte  Wellington, 
yo'  black  rascal,"  he  stormed  at  a  negro  whom  he  had  freed 
before  leaving  Kentucky,  but  who  had  refused  to  be  parted 
from  his  bluff  old  master,  "hitch  th'  gray  fillies  tuh  th' 
buggy  an'  git'm  'roun'  heah  tuh  th'  fron'  doah  en  three 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  277 

shakes  uv  uh  sheep's  tail.  Doan'  stan'  lhah  grinnin'  ut 
meh !" 

Ten  minutes  later  he  came  storming  into  the  Judge's 
office. 

"Colonel  Morton,"  on  being  introduced,  "Ah've  come 
down,  suh,  in  thuh  name  o'  New  Richmond,  tuh  'pologize 
t'  yuh,  suh,  foh  thuh  outrageous  manneh  yo'  wuh  treated, 
suh,  ut  th'  tevuhn.  Nic  TutwiltriYs  uh  crackeh,  jus'  po'  w'ite 
trash,  suh,  an'  doan'  know  w'at  ut  is  tuh  b'  uh  gentleman. 
Think  yo'h  in  uh  damn'  po'  biznis,  suh,  but  w'  woan'  talk 
about  that.  Ah'll  feel  m'sulf  honoh'd,  suh,  'f  yuh'll  mek  The 
Gables,  muh  humble  abode,  yo'  home  as  long  as  yuh  may  be 
pleased  t'  remain  en  New  Richmond,  suh." 

Colonel  Morton  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  but  de 
clined  the  invitation  on  the  ground  that  he  had  already 
accepted  other  hospitality. 

That  night  the  "Knights"  met,  in  session  extraordinary, 
at  the  residence  of  Dr.  Boynton.  They  were  "honored" 
by  the  presence  of  "Col."  David  Ripley,  whose  "fort"  was 
just  over  in  Zebulon  County,  sixteen  miles  east  of  New 
Richmond.  It  was  the  sense  of  the  meeting  that  the  time 
had  come  to  strike,  and  to  strike  hard.  No  "nigger-wuh- 
shpun' "  Government  should  be  permitted  boldly  to  come 
and  openly  persuade  Raleigh  County  young  men  to  fight 
against  the  Confederate  States  of  America.  "If  need  be, 
and  the  necessity  may  be  close  at  hand,  we  must  not  shrink 
from  bravely  meeting  armed  invasion  and  insolent  subjuga 
tion  in  New  Richmond,  just  as  our  fathers  now  are  doing 
yonder  under  the  glorious  leadership  of  our  peerless  Presi 
dent,  Jefferson  Davis."  "Colonel"  Ripley  promised  to  hasten 
to  his  "fort"  near  Thyratira,  despatch  messengers  to  Zoar, 
the  county  seat,  and  rally  the  chivalrous  Knights  as  soon 
as  possible.  In  a  week  they  could  count  on  his  presence  in 
New  Richmond — "with  reenforcements."  The  meeting  was 


278  AMERICANS  ALL 

opened  and  closed  with  prayer,  the  Reverends  Frothingay 
and  Bascom  officiating. 

Late  that  night  Judge  Gildersleeve,  who  had  retired  early, 
was  awakened  and  summoned  to  the  door.  His  late  caller 
was  Dr.  Boynton. 

Seated  in  the  parlor,  Dr.  Boynton  said:  "Judge  Gilder- 
sleeve,  I  want  a  little  legal  information,  and  have  come  to 
you  solely  because  you  are  the  best-informed  lawyer  in  New 
Richmond.  Please  understand  that  I'm  not  here  as  your 
friend,  for  I'm  not,  as  you're  not  mine.  I'm  a  Rebel ;  you're 
a  Unionist — that  constitutes  us  enemies.  Oh,  nothing  per 
sonal,  Judge,  nothing  personal.  You're  a  Virginian ;  I'm 
a  Kentuckian — hence  we're  both  gentlemen.  As  a  Rebel, 
you'd  like  to  shoot  me,  and  I  know  of  no  gentleman  by 
whom  I'd  rather  be  killed;  and,  sir,  I  flatter  myself  that 
you  entertain  a  like  respect  for  me ;  as  I,  before  I  would 
see  our  liberties  destroyed,  would  consent  to  your  accession 
to  the  Choir  Invisible,  and  would  render,  however  regret 
fully,  whatever  assistance  my  poor  hand  might  be  able  to 
render  to  accomplish  that  end.  I  think  we  understand  each 
other,  Judge  Gildersleeve  ?" 

Judge  Gildersleeve,  unsmiling,  bowed  assent. 

"Will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Judge?" 

Virginia  and  Kentucky  clasped  hands. 

"Now,  sir,"  resumed  Dr.  Boynton,  "I  will  state  my  busi 
ness,  and  I  shall  expect  to  pay  you  as  I  would  pay  any  other 
stranger.  I  want  to  know  if,  by  certain  remarks  I  made  to 
a  certain  Colonel  Morton  this  afternoon,  I  have  jeopardized 
my  life  or  liberty,  or  both." 

"Will  you  kindly  state  what  you  said,  Dr.  Boynton,  and 
all  the  circumstances?"  Judge  Gildersleeve  already  had 
Colonel  Morton's  statement. 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  279 

Dr.  Boynton  and  Colonel  Morton  were  in  perfect  agree 
ment. 

"Dr.  Boynton,"  began  the  Judge,  gravely,  "you're  liable  to 
Arrest  and  imprisonment,  though  in  no  peril  of  your  life.  I 
say,  liable  to  arrest  and  imprisonment;  as  to  whether  you 
unll  be  arrested  and  imprisoned,  well — only  Colonel  Morton 
himself  can  answer.  In  time  of  war,  the  military  often  dis 
places  all  local  authority — legislative,  executive,  and  judi 
cial.  Colonel  Morton  is  here  acting  under  orders  from  the 
President  direct ;  undoubtedly  he  is  clothed  with  very  large 
discretionary  power  and  authority;  were  he  to  conclude 
that  your  presence  at  large  in  this  community  would  embar 
rass  him  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  or  were  a  menace  to 
the  Federal  Government,  or  to  the  peace  of  the  community, 
he  doubtless  has  authority  to  arrest  you  and  imprison  you. 
As  to  whether  he  will  exercise  that  authority,  I,  of  course, 
am  unable  to  say." 

"And  your  advice,  Judge  Gildersleeve  ?" 

"I  would  see  Colonel  Morton  immediately  and  make  the 
amende  honorable/' 

"As  a  gentleman,  Judge  Gildersleeve,  I'm  willing  to  fol 
low  your  advice — understand  me,  purely  as  a  gentleman ; 
but  do  you  suppose  Colonel  Morton  is  a  gentleman,  and  that 
he  would  be  able  to  understand,  and  would  be  willing  to 
accept  an  apology,  leaving  politics  out — just  as  from  one 
gentleman  to  another  gentleman?  For,  as  a  gentleman, 
I'm  sorry  I  insulted  him ;  but  as  a  Kentuckian  and  a  Rebel, 
I'd  rather  die,  sir,  than  retract  a  single  word." 

The  Judge  urged  him  to  see  Colonel  Morton  at  once,  but 
cautioned  him  to  carefully  guard  his  speech.  Dr.  Boynton 
finally  concluded  he  would  never,  "so  help  him  God,"  grovel 
before  a  "Lincoln  hireling,"  and  so  moodily  returned  home, 
not  without  a  vague  feeling,  however,  that  there  was  trouble 
in  store  for  him. 


280  AMERICANS  ALL 

About  the  same  hour  Dr.  Boynton  was  conferring  with 
Judge  Gildersleeve  at  The  Maples,  Simonson,  yet  busily 
engaged  in  his  office,  was  startled  by  a  crash  of  pebbles 
against  his  window.  Opening  the  window,  he  saw,  in  the 
dim  starlight  below,  the  outline  of  a  woman.  Without 
waiting  for  him  to  speak,  the  woman  said,  in  a  low  voice: 
"Leave  your  light  burning  and  come  down  quickly.  You 
must  see  me  home.  I  am  frightened — come  quickly!"  He 
instantly  recognized  his  nocturnal  visitor  by  her  voice.  It 
was  Vergie  Culpepper. 

Marveling  at  the  unexpected  call,  and  wondering  what 
cause  had  brought  her  to  his  office  at  that  hour,  he  put  on 
his  hat,  quickly  descended,  and  found  her  waiting  for  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  building 
whence  she  had  called. 

Without  speaking,  she  took  his  arm  and  they  turned  at 
once  toward  The  Elms.  "Please  don't  talk,  and  don't  ask 
me  to  raise  my  veil,"  she  whispered.  "It  would  never  do 
for  us  to  be  recognized — together." 

He  bowed  his  head,  marveling  all  the  more  at  her  myste 
rious  manner.  They  walked  on,  silently,  toward  her  home. 
He  could  feel  her  strong,  sinewy  limbs,  the  pressure  of  her 
body,  the  touch  of  her  hand,  and  could  smell  the  perfume 
rising  from  her  hair.  What  was  there  about  Vergie  Cul 
pepper — the  spell  that  she  wove  about  every  one  that  came 
into  her  presence?  Whatever  it  was,  he  felt  it  now.  It 
thrilled  him.  He  resisted  it,  but  could  not  throw  it  off.  So 
perfectly  formed,  so  lithe,  so — vital! 

He  didn't  love  her;  he  told  himself  so,  and  yet He 

almost  wished  she  wouldn't  touch  him,  would  take  her  hand 
off  his  arm — as  the  opium-eater  wishes  some  one  would 
remove  from  before  him  the  delicious  drug  he  feels  himself 
unable  to  resist.  He  devoutly  wished  that  she  were  less 
tempting — her  eyes,  her  waist-line,  the  splendor  of  her  com- 


KNIGHTS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  281 

plexion,  her  hair — wished  it  as  the  man,  filled  wineglass  in 
hand,  wishes  the  rare  Chianti  were  less  powerfully  alluring 
and  seductive. 

They  had  reached  the  entrance  to  The  Elms — not  the 
front  entrance,  but  one  of  the  side  entrances  nearer  the 
house,  in  a  dense  copse  of  maple  trees. 

"Stop,  Mr.  Simonson,"  she  said.  "You  may  return  from 
here.  After  to-night  you  will  not  respect  me,  but — well,  I 
couldn't  help  myself.  It  was  unmaidenly  to  go  on  the  street 
at  night,  unattended,  and  to  a  man's  office,  and  from  with 
out  to  call  to  him,  and — and — but  it  wasn't  that.  I  had  to 
see  you." 

She  now  had  lifted  her  veil.  "Mr.  Simonson,  once  I  did 
you  a  great  wrong.  I  was  punished  for  it,  and  it  almost  cost 
me  my  life.  You  were  not  to  blame — you  were  innocent — 
and  yet  you  were  to  blarae.  It  was  that  Fourth  of  July  night 
when  you  were  talking  to  Felix  Palfrey,  and  I  wanted — 
You  remember  the  time? 

"And  while  I  was  ill — oh,  so  long — I  promised  God  that 
if  the  opportunity  should  ever  come  to  me,  I  would  make 
reparation  to  you.  And  to-night  the  opportunity  has  come. 
Are  you  following  me  ?" 

The  young  lawyer  indicated  that  he  understood. 

"Follow  me  closely,  then.  To-night,  at  Dr.  Boynton's, 
the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  met — don't — don't  inter 
rupt  me !  But  listen  closely,  for  I  must  go  in  a  moment." 

She  was  now  pressing  close  to  the  young  lawyer,  gripping 
his  arms ;  her  face  close  to  his  face ;  her  whispered  breath  on 
his  cheeks,  in  his  eyes,  mingled  in  the  air  he  breathed. 

"When  Papa  came  home,  I  heard  him  tell  Mama  all  about 
it.  I  was  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  the  door  was  ajar. 
Am  I  a  base  woman  to  tell  you  all  this?  Look  in  my  face 
and  there  read  the  truth :  that  I  am  a  virgin ;  that  I  have 
never  defiled  my  vestalhood  My  eyes  know  no  shame,  no 


282  AMERICANS  ALL 

matter  into  whose  eyes  I  look,  for  every  moment  of  my  life 
I  have  preserved  my  honor  inviolate — not  always  easily 
done,  for  am  I  not  comely?  And  I  am  truthful — no  Cul- 
pepper  ever  told  a  lie. 

"But  to-night — oh,  yes,  to-night  the  Knights  met  at  Dr. 
Boynton's.  Coloney  Ripley's  gone  to  call  the  Knights  to 
arms.  They  mean  to  kill  the  officer  that's  come  to  recruit 
soldiers,  and  they  mean  to  attack  the  Government.  Some 
of  them  may  come  to-night.  The  soldier  may  be  dead — 
now.  Ripley's  to  report  to  Dr.  Boynton ;  everything's  in 
Boynton's  hands.  But  if  you'd  do  anything,  you  must  act 
quickly — to-night ! 

"There!  Have  I  made  reparation?  Am  I  a  traitress? 
If  so,  it's  for  your  sake,  Sammy!  Do  you  really  hate  me — 
now?" 

She  was  very  close  to  him,  and  as  she  spoke  she  plead 
ingly  lifted  her  hands  and  arms  as  if  in  supplication. 

Instantly  he  embraced  her,  not  lightly,  nor  daintily,  nor 
caressingly,  but  roughly,  fiercely,  with  the  tumultuous  pas 
sion  of  a  strong  man  unable  to  longer  resist ;  and  she,  with 
a  like  virility  and  vitality,  long  restrained,  impelled  by  a 
mighty  inrush  of  fiery  passion  inherited  from  Indian  ances 
tors,  utterly  yielded  herself  to  the  tempest  which  she  could 
not  resist. 

For  a  fleeting  moment,  an  indefinable  instant,  he  felt  limb 
answering  to  limb,  body  to  body,  lips  to  lips,  fiery  pas 
sion  to  fiery  passion:  an  instant  that  burned  a  gash  down 
through  the  very  core  of  his  being — a  gash  volcanic,  that 
could  never  be  erased  or  forgotten ;  the  one  and  only  such 
moment  that  possibly  comes  to  every  man's  life,  which  no 
man  for  the  world  would  have  repeated  nor  for  the  world 
would  have  omitted — and  then  no  less  fiercely  she  disen 
gaged  herself  and  whispered: 

"Go!  Go  quickly!    And — forgive — "     Her  voice  trailed 


KNIGHTS  OP  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  283 

into  silence  with  a  sob  as  she  vanished  in  the  dark 
ness  as  noiselessly  as  her  Indian  ancestress,  Zohanozoheton, 
Herald  of  Dusk  and  Dawn,  in  the  long  ago,  doubtless  had 
oft  glided  among  the  forest  and  mountain  shadows. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  a  rider,  disguised  as  a  common 
farm-hand,  might  have  been  seen  speeding  westward  on 
horseback.  But  little  more  than  an  hour  later  the  same 
rider  might  have  been  seen  in  the  telegraph  office  at  Enochs- 
burg.  Had  one  looked  over  his  shoulder,  he  would  have 
seen  that  the  message  he  was  writing  was  addressed  to 
"Ezra  Unkmyer,  Provost  Marshal,  Onsted,  Illinois."  The 
careful  observer  would  have  seen  other  messages  despatched 
to  Abraham  Lincoln,  care  of  the  Secret  Service,  Washing 
ton,  D.  C.,  and  to  Judge  Advocate  General  Holt,  same  ad 
dress.  The  careful  observer  likewise  would  have  heard  the 
sender  of  these  various  despatches  reading  to  the  alert  teleg 
rapher  the  statute  relative  to  the  penalty — fine  and  impris 
onment,  the  one  large  and  the  other  long — for  writing,  relat 
ing,  or  in  any  way,  direct  or  indirect,  disclosing  the  contents 
of  any  telegram  offered,  or  accepted,  for  transmission,  or  for 
revealing,  except  to  the  constituted  authorities,  the  identity 
of  any  sender,  or  receiver,  of  any  telegram,  message,  or 
despatch  whatsoever.  And  the  rider  and  the  writer  were 
one  and  the  same  person — Samuel  Simonson. 

A  little  before  noon  the  following  day,  New  Richmond 
was  profoundly  shaken,  as  it  rarely  has  been  since,  and 
never  had  been  before,  by  the  arrival  of  the  United  States 
Provost  Marshal,  the  Provost  Marshal's  arrest  of  Leroy 
Boynton,  M.  D.,  and  the  immediate  departure  of  the  said 
Leroy  Boynton,  M.  D.,  in  irons,  and  heavily  guarded,  to 
Cleopas,  one  hundred  miles  distant,  to  be  tried  for  one  of 
the  gravest  of  crimes — treason. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HUGH    GRANT   AND   THE  RECRUITING  OFFICER LOGAN 

BUT  if  Vergie  could  vow  her  unswerving  fidelity  to  Vesta, 
the  young  lawyer  could  affirm  a  like  loyalty  to  Vesto, 
and  in  that  supreme  moment  of  mutual  conquest  and  self- 
surrender,  it  seemed  to  him  that  of  all  men  he  was  most  to 
be  envied. 

It  is  said  the  heart  sleeps  an  instant  between  each  throb 
and  the  one  succeeding,  the  only  rest  it  ever  has  between 
the  valves  of  birth  and  death,  but  in  those  infinitesimal  mo 
ments  revels  in  all  of  rest's  recuperation  and  exhilaration. 
So  to  the  young  lawyer  it  seemed  that  in  the  single  moment 
he  had  felt  the  fierce  pressure  of  Vergie's  body,  then  the 
utter  yielding  of  herself,  compliant  as  a  confiding  and  weary 
child,  he  had  drunk  Life's  deepest  draught,  had  experienced 
an  aeon  of  immeasurable  bliss. 

If  there  be  a  love  that  springs  from  the  primal  passion,  a 
mate  hunger  more  imperious  than  bread  hunger,  a  sex  long 
ing  pure  and  undefiled  as  a  mother's  prayer  and  no  less  law 
ful  than  the  higher  spiritual  love  Marjorie  always  inspired 
in  him,  it  did  not  occur  to  the  young  lawyer  now.  He  only 
knew  that  every  fibre,  every  tingling  nerve,  was  in  a  glorious 
tumult ;  and  he  had  no  doubt  but  the  raptures  he  felt  would 
continue  forever,  only  to  increase  and  intensify  by  infinite 
progressions  when  he  had  made  her  his  Very  Own  at  the 
marriage  altar. 

Thus  he  had  sped  on  his  wild  night  ride  to  Enochsburg  to 
summon  the  Provost  Marshal  from  Onstcd  to  New  Rich- 

284 


THE  RECRUITING  OFFICER  285 

mond,  and  then  back  to  New  Richmond  to  make  ready  for 
any  possible  effort  that  might  be  made  to  prevent  Boynton's 
arrest  and  removal  to  Cleopas.  Fortunately,  however,  there 
was  no  interference,  not  even  on  the  part  of  the  belligerent 
Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle — such  is  the  majesty  of  the 
law.  Besides,  there  was  something  in  the  stern  counte 
nances  of  the  Provost  Marshal  and  the  recruiting  officer  that 
awed  into  acquiescence  those  who  witnessed  the  Doctor's 
arrest  and  immediate  removal.  Colonel  Morton,  with  the 
consent  of  the  Provost  Marshal,  forbade  the  young  lawyer 
to  have  any  participation  whatever  in  the  matter. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  it  became  generally  known  that 
Dr.  Boynton  had  been  arrested  by  "a  minion  of  the  tyran 
nical  Nigger  Government  at  Washington,"  and  was  being 
taken  in  irons  to  Cleopas,  there  were  loud  threats  of  pursuit 
and  forcible  rescue;  and  several  of  the  Mule  Creek  Gang, 
chancing  to  be  in  New  Richmond,  threatened  to  make  a 
bonfire  of  the  town.  But  their  wrath  was  quelled  by  many 
long  and  deep  potations  of  strong  liquor,  and  by  night  even 
the  valor  of  their  mouths  had  subsided. 

The  effect  of  Dr.  Boynton's  prompt  arrest  was  exceed 
ingly  wholesome,  so  far  as  outward  respect  for  the  law  was 
concerned,  though  it  greatly  enraged  and  quickened  the 
activities  of  disloyal  organizations — for  it  must  be  remem 
bered  that  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  had  blood  of 
the  same  ilk  as  that  of  the  Provost  Marshal  and  the  recruit 
ing  officer,  were  just  as  conscientious,  and  were  equally 
brave  and  self-sacrificing  —  indeed,  not  infrequently  took 
greater  risks  than  the  officers  of  the  law  were  accustomed 
to  take. 

An  office  was  rented  by  Colonel  Morton,  "Old  Glory" 
was  flung  to  the  breeze,  and  the  citizenry  were  invited  to 
step  forward  and  enroll  their  names  on  "Glory's  deathless 
page";  but  the  response  was  anything  but  encouraging  to 


286  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  lovers  of  the  Union.  After  a  month's  hard  work,  Colonel 
Morton  confessed  that  he  was  making  but  little  progress; 
only  a  few  had  enlisted. 

"They  are  good  men,  Simonson,"  Colonel  Morton  said 
one  day  to  the  young  lawyer,  "but  don't  you  see  their  names 
attract  no  more  attention  than  so  many  telegraph  poles  or 
fence  posts;  though  they  are  brave  and  true,  and  I  cannot 
speak  too  highly  of  their  courage  and  patriotism,  yet,  in  a 
way,  their  names  on  our  roster  are  a  downright  injury  to  us 
— can't  you  see? 

"Now,  if  we  could  have  headed  our  list  with,  say,  Fred 
Gildersleeve ;  then  followed  with  the  names  of  Albert  Lev 
ering  and  Hugh  Grant,  and  several  others  from  like  promi 
nent  and  influential  families,  why,  they'd  have  come  flocking 
like  a  drove  of  sheep.  But  as  it  is — oh,  well,  there's  simply 
nothing  doing. 

"Another  thing,  Simonson,"  Colonel  Morton  continued, 
"a  change  is  coming  over  the  community ;  it's  becoming 
more  like  it  was  when  I  came  here  a  month  ago.  They're 
recovering  from  the  scare  and  check  they  had  when  Dr. 
Boynton  was  arrested  and  taken  to  Cleopas,  and  daily  are 
becoming  bolder  and  more  defiant.  Now  my  mail  is  full 
of  taunts  and  threats,  and  even  on  the  streets  I'm  no  longer 
allowed  to  go  unmolested.  Insulting  remarks  are  made  as 
soon  as  I  appear,  and  even  a  woman  hissed  as  I  passed  her 
yesterday  in  front  of  Frazier  &  Leadbetter's  harness  shop- 
that  Edythe  Fernleaf,  the  grass-widow." 

"She  was  only  whistling,  Colonel,"  the  young  lawyer 
laughingly  replied.  "Thought  you  were  fond  of  music, 
especially  the  soft,  sweet  sighing  of  the  aeolian  harp !" 

"All  right,  Simonson ;  have  it  your  way ;  but  let's  get 
down  to  tacks.  I'm  not  sure  of  the  wisdom  of  Logan's 
coming  here  this  week.  It's  already  raising  hell,  and  of 
course  when  he  gets  here  the  very  devil  will  be  to  pay. 


THE  RECRUITING  OFFICER  287 

Lawsy,  Simonson,  how  he'll  tan  their  jackets  and  hang 
their  hides  on  the  fence  to  dry !  And  they  ?  Why,  they've 
been  whetting  their  teeth  and  grinding  their  finger-nails  for 
two  weeks,  getting  ready  for  him.  In  fact,  they've  begun 
practicing  on  me.  Only  last  night  a  dozen  of  the  Thompson 
Creek  Terrors  pushed  me  off  the  sidewalk  into  the  mud 
and  told  me  that  that  was  the  place  for  niggers;  and  as  I 
was  going  home  a  bullet  toyed  with  my  earlock.  This  is 
only  Tuesday;  by  the  time  Logan  gets  here  Saturday  I 
fear  we'll  have  pandemonium — and  a  good  many  funerals." 

The  young  lawyer  wondered  what  he  could  do  to  pro 
mote  the  enlistment  of  soldiers  for  the  Union  army — that 
was  the  imperative  necessity.  Somehow  his  hope  centered 
in  Hugh  Grant;  if  only  he  could  get  Hugh  to  make  the 
break,  he  was  certain  that  others  of  like  prominence,  and  of 
equally  influential  families,  would  follow  his  example.  Ac 
cordingly  he  hunted  up  Hugh  and  invited  him  to  his  office 
for  a  conference.  But  the  young  man  was  hardly  lukewarm, 
though  evidently  he  was  thoughtful  and  troubled.  After  a 
little  conversation,  and  a  few  arguments  pro  and  con, 
the  young  man  exclaimed : 

"See  here,  Simonson,  I'm  not  a  coward — you  know  I'm 
not;  and  I'm  not  a  conscienceless  brute.  And  I'll  say  for 
your  encouragement  that  I've  made  some  progress  since 
our  last  interview  regarding  this  matter.  Then  I  said  I'd 
never  enlist  in  the  Union  army  without  Father's  consent. 
I've  revised  that,  and  it  now  reads,  without  Father's  knowl 
edge.  If  I'm  brave  enough  to  make  a  useful  soldier,  I'm 
brave  enough,  in  case  I  make  up  my  mind  to  join  the  Union 
army,  to  tell  Father  so ;  and,  if  he  can  hold  down  his  tem 
per,  give  him  my  reasons  for  coming  to  an  independent 
conclusion,  and  going  against  him — besides,  it's  the  maniy 
thing  to  do. 

"But,  Simonson,"  he  continued,  "I'm  not  a  highbrow  like' 


288  AMERICANS  ALL 

you;  and  then — well,  I'm  deeper  rooted  in  the  Southern 
Confederacy  than  you  are.  There's  hardly  a  Rebel  down 
South  but's  uncle  or  cousin  or  something  to  me,  and  you 
know  it's  hard  to  fight  your  own  flesh  and  blood.  Still,  I'd 
do  it  if  I  were  fully  convinced  that  they  were  in  the  wrong, 
and  that  my  help  was  needed  to  put  them  right  and  save  the 
Union." 

Hugh  Grant  was  a  typical  Southerner  —  brave,  high- 
minded,  whole-souled — and  the  young  lawyer  liked  him 
immensely. 

"Hugh,"  said  the  young  lawyer,  "let  me  give  you  a  piece 
of  advice." 

"All  right,  Simonson." 

"Go  up  to  Colonel  Morton's  office  and  have  a  heart-to- 
heart  talk  with  him." 

"No,  Simonson;  he's  a  damned  Yankee,  a  blue-bellied 
New  England  Roundhead,  and  I  don't  like  the  breed. 
Simonson,  we'd  have  a  fight  in  less  than  two  minutes.  I'm 
not  interested  in  this  struggle  between  the  North  and  the 
South  on  account  of  the  people.  So  far  as  the  people  are 
concerned,  I  like  the  Southern  people  wrong  better  than  I 
like  the  sniveling,  white-livered  New  England  Abolitionists, 
even  though  they  are  in  the  right.  If  I  fight  at  all,  it  must 
be  for  principle.  No,  Simonson,  it  wouldn't  do  any  good 
for  me  to  see  Colonel  Morton — he'd  only  rile  me." 

"Excuse  me,  Hugh,"  the  young  lawyer  now  earnestly 
pleaded,  "but  Morton's  not  a  bad  sort,  even  though  he  is  a 
Vermont  Yankee.  I'm  a  Missourian  myself;  do  you  think 
I'd  take  any  hypocritical  claptrap  from  him?  Why,  Hugh, 
what  you  say,  and  the  stand  you  take,  is  a  reflection  on  me, 
old  man !  Come,  let  me  take  you  up  and  introduce  you  to 
him,  and  then  I'll  clear  out — run  over  to  the  hospital  and 
undertaker's  and  make  all  the  necessary  arrangements;  get 
stretchers  and  coffins  rigged  up  for  immediate  business." 


THE  EECEUITING  OFFICER  289 

"I'll  not  promise,  Simonson.  We  Grants  are  pretty  stub 
born,  you  know,  and  you  must  give  us  time.  But  if  I  do 
see  Morton,  I'll  go  alone.  Much  obliged  to  you,  Simonson, 
just  the  same;  but  in  this  matter  I  prefer  to  play  a  lone 
hand." 

"Colonel  Morton,  this  is  the  young  man  that  called  yes 
terday,  and  whom  you  desired  to  see  if  he  called  again." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Colonel  Morton,  rising  and  extending  his 
hand  to  the  young  man,  at  the  same  time  signaling  his  aide 
to  retire. 

"Be  seated,  Mr. " 

"Grant— Hugh  Grant,  sir." 

"A  relative  of  Jedediah  Grant?"  The  recruiting  officer 
was  keenly  eyeing  his  caller. 

"Yes,  sir.    I'm  Jedediah  Grant's  son." 

The  recruiting  officer  frowned.  There  was  a  glint  of 
anger  in  his  eyes.  His  fingers  beat  a  tattoo  on  his  desk. 
Evidently  he  was  not  in  an  amiable  frame  of  mind.  To 
Hugh  it  was  also  evident  that  the  young  lawyer  had  left 
him  a  clear  field,  and  he  liked  him  all  the  more  for  not 
"coaching"  the  recruiting  officer. 

"And  what  do  you  want  to  see  me  about,  Mr.  Grant?" 
The  recruiting  officer's  voice  was  cold  and  metallic. 

"Call  me  Hugh,  sir.  There's  only  one  Mr.  Grant.  That's 
Father.  But — I  hardly  know  how  to  put  it,  Colonel  Morton. 
In  a  word,  I've  come  to  you  for  information  and  advice." 

Again  Colonel  Morton  closely  scrutinized  his  caller. 
Something  in  the  young  man's  face  appealed  to  him ;  there 
was  the  ring  of  sincerity  in  his  voice.  However  despicable 
his  principles  might  be,  like  his  father,  more  than  likely  a 
rabid  Secessionist,  personally  he  was  certajnly  a  lovable 
young  fellow. 

"All  right,  Hugh ;  state  your  case." 


290  AMERICANS  ALL, 

"Well,  it's  this  way.  We  Grants  are  Southerners — in 
fact,  most  of  the  Grants  in  this  country  are  Southerners, 
with  one  very  notable  exception — U.  S,  Grant.  Conse 
quently,  your  mission  in  this  neck  of  the  woods,  recruiting 
soldiers  for  the  Northern  army,  is  not,  to  say  the  least, 
exactly  pleasing  to  the  Grants." 

"I  have  surmised  as  much,  Hugh;  and,  since  you  have 
mentioned  it,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  who  is  working  over 
time  to  bring  my  mission  to  an  abrupt  and  inglorious  ter 
mination.  Twice  within  a  week  I  have  been  waylaid,  and 
sundry  leaden  compliments  have  hailed  me  in  the  dark. 
Possibly  you  can  shed  some  light  on  the  question  as  to  the 
identity  of  my  would-be  assassins."  Again  the  Colonel's 
wrath  was  rising,  for  he  had  interpreted  the  young  man's 
remark  as  a  threat. 

"Excuse  me,  Colonel  Morton,  I  had  not  meant  to  speak 
of  that." 

"And  why  not  ?  There's  a  well-grounded  suspicion  abroad 
that  Jedediah  Grant,  your  father,  is  implicated." 

Instantly  Hugh's  face  was  livid  with  rage.  "It's  a  damned 
lie !  Whoever  says  my  father  waylaid  you,  or  shot  at  you 
from  ambush,  or  has  in  any  way,  directly  or  indirectly, 
interfered  with  you  or  your  business,  is  a  double-damned 
liar — you  or  anybody  else !" 

"Steady,  young  man.  Don't  go  too  fast.  Remember, 
also,  to  whom  you  are  speaking.  I  should  dislike  to  order 
your  arrest." 

"Order  me  under  arrest?  Fire  away  if  you  want  to! 
Order  me  under  arrest,  and  be  damned!  Arrest  me,  and 
there'll  be  the  hottest " 

"There,  there,  now !  Enough  of  that.  Possibly  I  have 
been  misinformed." 

"You  have  been  misinformed,  Colonel  Morton,  if  you've 
been  led  to  believe  that  my  father'd  be  guilty  of,  or  counte- 


THE  RECRUITING  OFFICER  291 

nance,  anything  cowardly  or  dishonorable.  1  confess  that 
he's  against  you,  teeth  and  toe-nails.  He  hates  Abe  Lincoln 
and  the  Abolitionists ;  he  loves  the  South  and  everything 
the  South  stands  for.  He  grieves  because  the  wound  he 
received  at  Cherubusco  prevents  him  from  fighting  under 
the  Stars  and  Bars.  My  father,  sir,  is  a  Copperhead,  and  is 
pretty  free  in  expressing  so-called  'Rebel'  sentiments,  but 
a  braver  or  more  honorable  man  never  lived." 

"I  wish  every  young  man  could  say  as  much  for  his 
father ;  and  your  instant  and  emphatic  defense  of  him  does 

great  credit  to  your  heart;  but "  There  was  a  long 

pause — then:  "No  matter  now."  The  fiery  young  South 
erner,  so  fearless,  so  reverent  toward  his  father,  had 
touched  the  heart  of  the  weary  and  harassed  recruiting 
officer. 

For  a  month  Colonel  Morton  had  been  sorely  tried.  He 
had  been  flouted  on  every  hand.  Had  he  been  a  leper,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  studiously  avoided ;  or  guilty  of 
some  heinous  crime,  he  could  not  have  been  more  openly 
shunned  and  loathed.  His  mission,  too,  had  been  a  failure., 
But  few  had  enlisted,  and  none  of  importance.  The  power 
ful  families — Bretts  and  Radfords  and  Morgans  and  Races 
and  Leeces  and  Goldbecks  and  Leverings — had  held  taunt 
ingly  aloof,  and  were  thwarting  him  in  every  possible 
manner. 

A  certain  Major  Martin,  ostensibly  representing  Keith, 
Farquar  &  Winslow,  of  New  York,  but  really  a  Southern 
emissary,  for  more  than  a  week  had  been  in  consultation 
with  the  leading  men  of  the  community. 

To  the  Colonel's  certain  knowledge  there  were  at  least 
three  strong  Copperhead  lodges  in  Raleigh  County — one  at 
Pewaumee,  one  at  Fairhaven,  and  one  at  Squire  Mulford's, 
on  the  Enochsburg  Road. 

His  life  was  in  constant  jeopardy.    Colonel  Morton  was 


292  AMERICANS  ALL 

not  lacking  in  courage,  but  silent  opposition,  an  atmosphere 
of  mystery,  and  repeated  attempted  assassinations  were  get 
ting  on  his  nerves. 

But  this  young  fellow,  Hugh  Grant,  was  open  and  above- 
board.  Colonel  Morton  liked  him.  Even  the  young  fel 
low's  quick  temper  and  profanity  were  pleasantly  piquant 
and  zestful.  He  reminded  the  Colonel  of  many  splendid 
Southern  cadets  whom  he  had  known  and  admired  at  West 
Point.  His  face  relaxed.  His  eyes  softened.  His  bearing 
became  less  rigid.  Turning  to  his  youthful  visitor,  he  said : 

"Hugh,  how  old  are  you?" 

"Just  past  twenty-five,  Colonel."  He  was  a  trifle  puzzled 
by  the  recruiting  officer's  change  of  tactics. 

"Where  were  you  born?" 

"At  Charleston,  South  Carolina." 

"And  your  parents?" 

"Both  South  Carolinians.  My  father  fought  under  old 
Zach  Taylor,  sir;  and  his  father  fought  under  General 
Jackson ;  and  my  great-grandfather  fought  under  George 
Washington.  And  my  blessed  mother,  sir,  was  a  Rhett,  and 
a  great-granddaughter  of  Patrick  Henry." 

"And  with  such  ancestry,  Hugh,  you  want  to  turn  'Rebel' 
and  fight  the  flag  of  your  country?" 

"You  forget,  Colonel,  that  there  are  two  flags  now,  and 
that  most  of  my  people  are  fighting  under  the  other  flag ; 
and  you  also  forget  that  my  great-great-grandfather,  Patrick 
Henry,  was  something  of  a  'Rebel,'  as  were  also  several 
other  rather  reputable  gentlemen,  such  as  George  Washing 
ton  and  Thomas  Jefferson." 

"And  you,  Hugh,  where  do  you  stand  ?"  There  were  both 
anxiety  and  solicitude  in  the  Colonel's  voice;  besides,  he 
wanted  to  avoid  an  argument. 

"That's  just  the  question.  If  any  man  will  make  clear  to 
me  my  duty,  I'll  do  it,  so  help  me  God !" 


THE  RECRUITING  OFFICER  293 

"Ah,  I  can  easily  do  that,  my  boy." 

Colonel  Morton  instantly  was  conscious  of  the  unwis 
dom  of  his  reply.  For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  the 
difference  between  his  view-point  and  Hugh  Grant's — 
that,  socially,  temperamentally,  and  ancestrally,  they  were 
antipodal. 

In  a  flash,  too,  he  saw  that  his  attitude  and  tone  of  voice 
were  an  insult  to  the  young  man  and  his  people;  and  his 
heart  went  out  in  sympathy  to  the  perplexed  young  fellow. 
Himself  a  Vermonter,  sired  and  dammed  by  a  long  line  of 
ardent  patriots  of  the  New  England  type,  of  course  he  was 
for  Lincoln  and  the  North;  why  should  not  Hugh,  for 
reasons  equally  valid — a  Southerner,  a  Grant-Rhett,  de 
scended  from  Patrick  Henry,  hearing  only  pro-Southern 
sentiments  expressed,  having  only  pro-Southern  associa 
tions — in  like  manner  be  for  Jefferson  Davis  and  the  South  ? 
He  thought  of  the  devout  and  scholarly  Robert  E.  Lee  and 
Stonewall  Jackson  and  Bishop-General  Polk,  and  of  the 
deep  and  unaffected  religiousness  of  the  South.  Involun 
tarily,  he  condemned  his  hasty  and  cocksure  speech. 

"Excuse  me,  Hugh.  We  soldiers  are  a  blunt  sort.  Be 
sides,  these  are  trying  times.  Now  I  want  to  thank  you 
for  coming  to  see  me,  and,  if  you'll  allow  me,  I'd  like  to 
explain  things  as  I  understand  them." 

"Hell,  Morton,  what's  the  use?"  Hugh  was  offended,  as 
he  had  told  the  young  lawyer  he  would  be,  and  was  both 
angry  and  disgusted. 

"You  forget  my  rank  and  title,  young  man,"  not  unkindly. 

"Damn  your  rank  and  title!  You're  only  a  man,  and  I 
reckon  I'm  as  much ;  and  as  for  title,  I'm  a  gentleman.  Can 
you  beat  that?  Guess  I'll  be  going."  Hugh  had  almost 
reached  the  door. 

"But  hold  on,  Hugh.  Really,  I  meant  no  offense.  Any 
way,  let's  have  a  friendly  little  chat.  Here,  have  a  cigar." 


294  AMERICANS  ALL 

"No  use,  Colonel.  You're  just  like  Father  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  folks — you're  all  crazy,  or  dreamers,  or  fanatics 
— hotheads,  every  one  of  you.  What  I  want  is  instruction, 
not  declamation;  a  bunch  of  facts,  not  a  string  of  unsup 
ported  eulogies  or  denunciations.  See?  Here's  Reverend 
Frothingay — fine  old  chap  as  ever  lived — praying  for  the 
South;  and  Reverend  Beech,  all  wool  and  a  yard  wide, 
right  across  the  street,  whooping  it  up  for  the  North.  Here's 
Cap  Noss,  scurrying  in  every  direction,  drumming  up  men 
for  the  Northern  army ;  and  out  yonder's  Father,  crazy  mad 
because  I  don't  rush  right  off  before  breakfast  to  fight  on 
the  other  side.  Old  Daddy  Updegraff  says  Abe  Lincoln  is 
all  hunkedory,  while  good  old  Aunt  Mariah,  his  wife,  is 
shouting,  even  in  her  sleep,  for  Jeff  Davis — and  sometimes 
tney  almost  come  to  blows.  I  may  be  a  chump,  Colonel 
Morton,  but  I'll  be  dodgasted  seventy  times  seven  before 
I'll  go  it  blind.  You  think  you're  right,  but  that  proves 
nothing.  Father  thinks  he's  right,  but  that  proves  nothing. 
It's  all  assertion,  assertion,  assertion.  But  I  want  facts,  I 
tell  you." 

"And  if  you  had  the  facts,  Hugh,  would  you  abide  by 
them?" 

"Yes,  till — till  hell  froze  forty  feet  deep,  and  Baldy  Beelze- 
bud,  Esquire,  became  a  Reverend  and  turned  evangelist." 

"Even  if  it  meant  to  give  up  the  South,  and  join  the 
Union  Army?" 

"Everything,  everything — except " 

"Well,  go  on,  Hugh.  Except  what?" 

"None  of  your  infernal  business." 

Colonel  Morton  was  laughing.  He  liked  this  breezy,  hon 
est,  rugged,  straightforward  young  Egyptian.  He  reminded 
him  of  what  Lincoln  must  have  been  at  his  age,  and  Logan, 
and  Tecumseh  Sherman — abrupt,  fearless,  sometimes  pro 
fane,  but  always  modest,  reliable,  self-respecting. 


THE  EECBUITING  OFFICER  295 

"See  here,  Colonel,  I  like  you,  even  if  you  are  a  damned 
Yankee,  though  I  didn't  think  I  would;  and  I  don't  mind 
telling  you.  I'm  willing  to  go  against  all  hell  and  damna 
tion  except — except  Freda.  Ever  meet  her?" 

"No,  Hugh.    Tell  me  about  her." 

"Not  much  to  tell,  Colonel.  Only  she's  a  Levering,  and 
she's  got  grit  and  gimp  and  gumption,  fire  and  dash  and 
ginger.  She's  a  24-karat,  16  hands  high,  mile  in  57  seconds, 
thoroughbred."  His  eyes  told  the  rest. 

"And  of  course  Union  to  the  core." 

"Hell,  no — not  on  your  faded  old  ambrotype !  She's  Rebel 
to  the  core,  or  I  reckon  she  is.  Didn't  I  tell  you  she's  a 
Levering,  a  South  Carolina  Levering — do  you  understand? 
Just  as  you  would  say,  a  John  Brown  or  a  Wendell  Phillips 
Abolitionist.  Understand?" 

Colonel  Morton's  countenance  fell.  He  had  seen  Freda 
Levering.  She  was  a  wonderfully  pretty  girl  of  the  Southern 
type.  Young  men  by  the  score  were  in  love  with  her,  and — 
afraid  of  her;  for  to  utmost  gentleness  in  her  were  added 
an  irresistible  wit  and  brusquerie.  Above  all,  she  was  a 
girl  of  decided  opinions,  as  Hugh  had  told  the  young  lawyer, 
and  had  the  courage  of  her  convictions — in  fact,  was  brave 
to  audacity.  Hugh  Grant  could  never  side  with  the  North 
against  the  wishes  of  Freda.  Colonel  Morton  told  him  so 

"But  hold  on,  Colonel,"  Hugh  said.  "You  don't  under 
stand.  Freda  sent  me  to  you.  Simonson  asked  me  first  and 
I  turned  him  down.  But  at  the  apple-cutting  out  at  Floyd 
Monroe's  last  night  Freda  said :  'Hugh,  do  you  understand 
what  all  this  fuss  is  about?'  'No,'  I  answered.  'Then  go 
to  that  Yankee  recruiting  officer/  she  replied.  'Even  if  his 
ears  don't  match  he  may  not  be  as  ignorant  and  sap-headed 
as  he  looks.  Anyway,  he'll  know  their  side  of  the  quarrel. 
Let's  not  be  ignorant,  Hugh.  Let's  have  the  E-Pluribus- 
Unum,  Stars-and-Stripes-Forever,  Oh-Say-Can-You-See, 


296  AMERICANS  ALL 

Abe-Lincoln  version  from  first  to  last — facts,  fancies,  phan 
tasies,  vagaries,  surmises,  and  so-called  logical  conclusions.' 
And  that's  why  I'm  here,  Colonel.  So  now,  Mr.  Recruiting 
Officer,  just  fire  away." 

Colonel  Morton  was  abashed  and  nonplused.  Here  were 
an  honesty  and  frankness  and  conscientiousness  he  had  not 
anticipated,  and  a  task  he  felt  himself  by  no  means  compe 
tent  to  perform.  As  a  Northerner  he  had  taken  everything 
for  granted.  He  had  been  too  prejudiced  to  read  even  the 
speeches  of  Hayne  and  Calhoun,  of  Davis  and  Stephens. 
But  here  were  Hugh  Grant  and  Freda  Levering,  of  the 
bluest  strains  of  Southern  blood,  imploring  him  to  tell  the 
Northern  side  of  the  controversy — and  he  saw  that  they 
were  in  deadly  earnest.  Slowly  turning  to  his  viskor  he 
said  : 

"Hugh,  I'm  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,  and — Freda. 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  two  to  hear  Logan  tomorrow." 

"That  renegade  coyote  who " 

"Easy,  Hugh,"  placing  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  arm. 
"I  want  you  and  Freda  to  hear  General  Logan.  You  say 
you  want  facts — he'll  give  them  to  you,  straight  from  the 
shoulder.  He'll  make  you  mad,  both  of  you,  to  the  core — 
but  I  want  you  to  hear  him  through.  More  than  likely  he'll 
lift  your  hair,  maybe  your  hide;  it's  a  way  he  has — but  I 
want  you  to  curb  your  temper  and  follow  him  with  closest 
attention.  They  may  try  to  mob  him,  somebody  may  shoot 
at  him,  it's  possible  there  will  be  a  terrible  riot ;  but  don't  get 
excited — he'll  take  care  of  himself.  But  listen  to  every  word 
he  says.  He  knows  what  he's  talking  about.  Logan  himself 
is  a  lawyer,  and  a  scholar,  and  is  thoroughly  informed.  His 
father  is  a  physician,  and  a  fine  old  fellow.  You  want  to 
do  the  right  thing — so  does  Freda.  You  confess  that  you  are 
confused.  You  have  come  to  me  for  advice,  and  my  advice 


THE  RECRUITING  OFFICER  397 

is  for  you  and  Freda  to  give  Logan  a  fair  and  square  hearing 
tomorrow.  Will  you  do  it,  Hugh?" 

Colonel  Morton  had  spoken  imploringly,  and  with  deep 
unction.  He  felt  it  was  a  crisis  in  the  young  man's  life,  and 
in  the  patriotic  history  of  Raleigh  County.  Hugh  himself 
was  deeply  moved. 

"Colonel  Morton,  I  can't  speak  for  Freda.  She  probably 
won't  come,  but  I  will." 

"That's  all  I  ask,  Hugh." 


CHAPTER  XX 
LOGAN'S  SPEECH  AT  NEW  RICHMOND 

PROMPTLY  at  the  appointed  hour  the  imperturbable 
"Black  Jack,  Eagle  of  the  Thirty-first,"  as  his  admirers 
proudly  styled  him,  mounted  the  rude  platform  that  had  been 
erected  in  the  court  house  campus.  The  most  casual  observer 
would  have  noted  that  the  audience  was  intensely  hostile. 
Only  a  born  hero  would  have  dared  to  face  it,  much  less  to 
speak  his  mind  fully,  without  reservation  or  hesitation.  The 
very  air  was  electric,  a-tremble,  almost  a-shudder,  with 
ominous  expectation  and  apprehension.  Occasionally  some 
one  would  shout,  "Hooray  for  Jeff  Davis!"  Then  others, 
"Down  with  the  Lincoln  hirelings!"  "To  hell  with  the 
G — d  d — d  nigger  worshipers!" 

Many  men,  dark-browed  and  scowling,  openly  wore 
revolvers  and  bowie-knives.  One,  bare-headed,  a  revolver 
in  each  hand,  a  bowie-knife  held  crosswise  between  his  large 
obtruding  tobacco-stained  teeth,  and  a  jingling  spur  on  each 
booth,  Jake  Rindafer  by  name,  forced  his  way  through  the 
crowd  down  to  a  front  seat.  His  rude  act  and  grotesque 
appearance  excited  neither  laughter  nor  resentment.  A 
score  of  dangerous  men,  desperadoes  and  Knights  of  the 
Golden  Circle,  under  the  leadership  of  Bill  Snodgrass,  cham 
pion  bully,  notorious  ex-thief,  penitentiary  graduate  and  post 
graduate,  filed  in  and  took  places  about  the  speaker's  stand. 
They  were  all  heavily  armed.  It  was  not  known  whether 
they  meant  to  capture  Logan,  or  kill  him  outright — probably 

298 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  399 

the  latter.  They  all  held  their  hands  in  their  hip-pockets. 
The  reason  was  obvious. 

The  effigy  of  a  negro  was  let  down  from  one  of  the  court 
house  windows ;  and  presently,  from  another  window,  there 
was  lowered  an  effigy  of  Logan.  Each  effigy  had  a  rope 
about  its  neck.  But  though  all  this  pantomime  was  in  p'ain 
view  of  the  audience  there  was  no  demonstration  of  regret 
or  remonstrance — only  grim  silence. 

Since  early  morning  the  weather  had  been  threatening 
and  now  the  rain  fell  in  torrents — a  tempestuous  summer 
deluge.  It  rapidly  grew  very  dark,  and  in  the  windows  of 
the  houses  facing  the  court  house  square,  yellow  lights — 
primitive  candles — began  to  gleam. 

Then  the  wind  intensified  its  fury,  and  the  electrical 
storm  became  blinding  and  deafening.  Flash  after  flash  of 
lightning  was  followed  by  crash  after  crash  of  reverberating 
thunder — heavenly  artillery — but  no  one  moved. 

The  scene :  The  dauntless  Logan,  the  man  with  a  bowie- 
knife  between  his  teeth,  the  horde  of  ruffians  grouped  about 
the  speaker's  stand,  the  dark-browed,  scowling,  murderous 
multitude,  was  worthy  of  the  pen  and  pencil  of  a  Greek 
dramatist ;  while  the  tempest,  the  yellow,  flickering  lights,  the 
flashing  lightning  and  the  crashing  thunder,  the  wail  and 
moan  of  giant  oak  and  elm  and  maple  almost  uprooted,  and 
the  lowering  furious  heavens,  raging  and  writhing  as  if  in 
quest  of  universal,  primeval  vengeance,  furnished  a  scenario 
beyond  the  ordering  of  human  wealth  and  genius. 

But  none  moved.  Scarcely  an  umbrella  was  raised.  In 
the  tense  strain  even  timid  women  had  suddenly  developed 
nerves  of  steel. 

A  distant  shot  was  heard,  a  near-by  scream,  a  wild  driver- 
less  team  dashed  into  the  public  square,  tore  off  one  of  the 
front  wheels  of  the  wagon  at  the  post  office  corner,  turned 
and  plunged  down  Roanoke  Street,  and  disappeared  as 


300  AMEEICANS  ALL 

though  clothed  with  wings  and  sped  by  lightning — a  mate 
rialized  dream  from  the  world  of  pagan  mythology. 

In  the  wild  excitement,  intensified  by  the  blinding  gloom 
and  the  roar  of  the  elements,  one  of  the  plunging,  careening 
horses  seemed  to  be  headless,  and  the  other  to  exhale  fire — 
and  that  such  was  the  case  was  currently  reported  for  many 
years. 

It  was,  indeed,  like  a  lurid  scene  from  ^schylus,  or  one 
of  the  mysterious  portents  said  to  have  presaged  the  downfall 
of  the  Roman  empire,  or  a  blood-curdling  spectacle  conjured 
by  the  fabled  spectres  of  the  angered  air,  warning,  warning, 
WARNING— but  no  one  stirred. 

All  eyes  now  were  riveted  on  the  fearless  political  gladiator 
who  had  risen  to  address  them. 

Here  and  there  a  man  shot  a  furtive,  nervous  glance  over 
the  crowd  as  if  expecting  to  see  a  hundred,  perhaps  a  thou 
sand  revolvers  leveled  at  the  speaker's  head  and  heart — and 
then  the  tumult. 

For  days  the  air  had  been  sulphurous  with  dark  hints, 
and  even  open  declarations,  that  if  Logan  dared  to  show 
his  face  in  New  Richmond  he  would  not  be  permitted  to 
speak,  and  now  was  the  time  to  act — but  no  one  moved. 

Silent  as  sculptured  Fate,  statuesque  as  hewn  and  graven 
marble,  apparently  unbreathing  as  the  dusty  throat  of  an 
abandoned  sepulchre,  the  prejudice-crazed,  soon  to  be  madly- 
infuriated,  multi-bodied,  uni-minded  monster  sat. 

Hugh  Grant  and  Freda  Levering  were  present. 

Presently  the  storm  subsided  and  Logan,  advancing  to 
the  front  of  the  platform,  began  his  address,  an  address  des 
tined  to  be  renowned  in  the  annals  of  forensic  eloquence — for 
before  the  close  of  the  day  he  had  won  hundreds  of  Egypt's 
brightest  and  noblest  sons  to  the  Union. 

But  now  there  was  no  omen  of  victory — naught  but  gan- 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  301 

grened  prejudice,  maddened,  maniacal,  and  driven  to  its 
last  retreat. 

"Fellow  Citizens!" 

Logan  paused  to  note  the  effect.  His  long,  black,  straight, 
abundant  Indian-like  hair  reached  to  his  shoulders;  his 
massive  jet-black  drooping  mustache  but  half  concealed  his 
resolute  mouth  and  leonine  jaw;  his  raven-black  eyes,  keen 
as  an  eagle's,  piercing  as  a  javelin  of  light  deflected  from  an 
Arab's  scimetar,  swept  the  audience  fearlessly,  defiantly ;  his 
voice,  like  the  clarion  call  of  a  king's  trumpeter,  far-reaching, 
all-embracing,  rang  out  without  shadow  or  suspicion  of 
trembling  or  timidity. 

So  Jove,  or  Thor,  or  Ajax,  or  Hercules  might  have  stood, 
dared,  thundered,  hurled  defiance,  by  his  very  mien  smitten 
his  enemies  with  terror  or  aroused  his  followers  to  deeds  of 
fiendish  fury  and  destruction.  Swarthy,  agile,  intrepid, 
arrayed  in  a  Major-General's  uniform,  there  was  about  him 
the  air  of  mastery,  of  a  tremendously  vital  personality,  of  a 
regnant  indomitable  spirit.  In  ancient  times,  the  worth 
while  days  of  Greece  and  Rome,  he  would  have  been  wor 
shiped  as  a  god. 

Out  of  the  death-like  hush  there  came  a  hiss,  keen,  dagger- 
like,  hurtling.  Not  often  do  men  thus  hiss,  they  can-not;  for 
the  keenness  and  piercingness  are  born  of  the  hatred  and  fury 
that  inspire  it,  and  are  always  in  exact  proportion  to  the 
tenseness  and  terribleness  of  the  potential  hatred  and  fury; 
and  now  the  sabre-like  thrust  of  the  hiss  was  all  the  more 
penetrating  on  account  of  the  psycho-electrical  storm  in  the 
air,  and  the  tiptoeness  and  quiviveness-of  ominous  fear  and 
expectation. 

Again  the  hiss  slashed  and  slivered  the  silence,  but  none 
moved  or  looked  around.  Even  Logan  looked  neither  to 
right  or  left.  While  the  second  hiss  was  seething  and  tor- 


302  AMERICANS  ALL 

turing  its  way  through  the  air  he  slowly  and  deliberately 
said: 

"There  are  many  breeds  of  reptiles" — giving  the  "i"  the 
long  sound.  "When  I  was  soldiering  in  Mexico  we  passed 
through  a  certain  valley  that  fairly  swarmed  with  a  reptile, 
a  cross  between  a  scorpion  and  a  tarantula,  vile,  vicious, 
hideous,  terrible,  with  a  peculiarly  loathsome  odor,  and  a 
damnably  wicked  hiss.  Flatheads  and  blue-racers  are  com 
mon  breeds.  But  this  is  a  new  kind  of  sibilance ;  but,  believe 
me,  I  recognized  it  instantly.  I  have  been  hearing  it  down 
about  Sardis,  and  Rapidan,  and  Eutopolis,  and  Minerva, 
and  Cleopas,  and  Athens,  ever  since — I  was  about  to  say 
ever  since  the  Lincoln-Douglas  debate;  the  Lincoln  who  is 
now,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  sovereign  will  of  a  great 
liberty-loving,  Union-adoring  people,  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy. 
I  say  I  instantly  recognized  the  vile  reptile  that  has  just 
hissed  twice.  It  is  a  damn  Copperhead,  the  vilest,  slimi 
est,  damnablest  beast  or  reptile  ever  vomited  out  of  the 
bottomless  pit  of  hell." 

Logan's  eyes  gleamed  like  coals  of  fire  but  his  voice  was 
intensely  calm,  and  he  made  no  gestures. 

"Brave  as  a  lion,"  Hugh  whispered;  Freda  smiled  and 
nodded. 

Instantly  there  was  a  fierce,  spasmodic  clutching  of 
revolvers  and  bowie-knives,  but  Logan  went  on  without 
seeming  to  note  the  increased  fury  his  audacious  words 
were  kindling. 

Presently  there  came  another  hiss,  long-drawn,  insistently 
and  increasingly  insolent,  and  murderous — as  of  a  rattle 
snake  when  about  to  strike.  Then  a  dozen,  score,  hundreds ! 

The  speaker's  voice  was  overborne  by  the  tumult ;  and 
the  mob,  surging  yet  closer  to  the  platform,  formed  an  un- 
escapable  cordon  about  him.  It  now  was  evident  that  an 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  303 

assault  had  been  planned,  and  that  everything  was  moving 
forward  as  prearranged.  When  at  last  able  to  make  himself 
understood  Logan  said : 

"I  despise  your  hisses  ;  neither  have  I  any  respect  for  your 
contemptible  methods  and  tactics. 

"To  you  who  thus  deliberately  seek  to  insult  me,  the  uni 
form  I  wear,  and  the  sacred  Cause  I  represent,  I  wish  to  say 
that  I  neither  fear  or  respect  you.  You  are  beneath  the  con 
tempt  of  a  nigger,  or  dog,  or  hottentot,  or  orang-outang. 
I  wouldn't  so  much  as  spit  on  you. 

"For  decent,  respectable  Rebels  down  South  who  have  the 
courage  of  their  convictions  I  have  the  highest  consideration. 
They  are  wrong,  damnably  wrong,  but  they  honestly  think, 
however  mistaken — it  is  born  in  the  blood,  and  bred  in  the 
bone — that  they  have  a  righteous  cause ;  and  they  are  out  in 
the  open  fighting  for  it  with  the  high-born  valor  of  gods  and 
heroes,  just  as  they  fought  in  Mexico,  and  in  the  various 
wars  we've  had  with  England  and  the  Indians.  I  myself 
have  felt  their  steel  and  they  have  felt  mine,  and,  by  G — d, 
we  respect  one  another.  But  for  you  poltroons,  mounte 
banks,  guerillas,  sneak-thieves,  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle, 
cowardly  egg-sucking  curs ' 

There  was  now  an  avalanche  of  hisses,  and  an  ominous 
lunge  toward,  and  closing  in  about,  the  platform.  Men  held 
their  weapons  in  readiness,  and  eyes  glared  with  a  hatred 
that  boded  ill  for  the  unsparing  speaker.  But  Logan 
remained  calm  and  undaunted. 

"If  the  men  whom  you  eulogize ' 

"Hooray  for  Jeff  Davis!"  "Hooray  for  good  old  Bobby 
Toombs !"  "Hooray  for  the  Southern  Confederacy !" 

Bedlam  had  turned  loose.  A  riot  seemed  inevitable.  Had 
some  one  fired  a  shot  the  result  would  have  been  terrible. 
There  was  only  lacking  a  leader  with  sufficient  courage  and 
daring. 


304  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Damned  outrage,"  was  Hugh's  comment. 

"Keep  still,  Hugh,"  was  Freda's  reply.  "Guess  Logan  can 
take  care  of  himself." 

After  a  space  of  ten  minutes  Logan  was  again  able  to 
make  himself  heard,  though  still  the  confusion  was  great. 

"I  was  just  saying  that  if  the  men  whom  you  eulogize — 
Jeff  Davis,  Toombs,  Stephens,  General  Lee — knew  by  what 
a  mangey,  lousy,  lop-eared  pack  of  cowardly  cusses,  white- 
livered  renegades,  and  disreputable  poltroons  and  mounte 
banks  up  North  their  cause  is  being  championed  they  would 
hang  their  heads  in  shame,  and  pray  to  be  delivered  from 
such  an  accursed  and  disgraceful  set  of  cut-throat  abettors 
and  supporters." 

"It's  a  damned  lie,"  rang  out  from  the  white  lips  of  Dr. 
Culpepper,  standing  by  a  tree  about  twenty  feet  from  the 
rostrum.  "I  say  it's  a  lie,  a  G —  d —  lie,  and  you  know  it  is, 
you  G —  d —  Lincoln  hireling." 

Instantly  Logan  seized  a  heavy  goblet  and  hurled  it  at 
the  Doctor's  head.  The  aim  was  accurate  but  the  Doctor 
dodged  and  the  flying  goblet  struck  Col.  David  Ripley — 
almost  a  fatal  blow.  The  "Commandant  of  Fort  Ripley"  fell 
unconscious,  with  a  deep  gash  in  his  forehead.  Logan's 
quick  and  fearless  act  for  a  moment  awed  the  crowd  into 
silence. 

"I'm  going  to  my  room.  I  shall  return  in  a  moment." 
Logan  leaped  from  the  platform  and  crossed  to  the  hotel 
on  the  west  side  of  the  square,  just  back  of  Joel  Race's  store. 

Bill  Snodgrass  and  his  Mule  Creek  gang  followed;  also 
several  others,  including  the  "desperado"  with  two  spurs,  a 
revolver  in  each  hand,  and  a  bowie-knife  between  his  teeth. 

When  Logan  descended  from  his  room  and  stepped  out 
on  the  sidewalk  he  found  his  way  blockaded,  and  was  greeted 
with  a  storm  of  curses  and  hisses.  A  dozen  or  more  men 
had  their  revolvers  drawn  and  cocked.  A  less  brave  and 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  305 

resolute  man  would  have  been  daunted — but  not  Logan. 
But  not  a  moment  was  to  be  wasted,  for  they  were  crowding 
in  upon  him.  Lifting  his  hand,  he  said : 

"Are  there  any  boys  here  who  love  the  Union,  and  are 
willing  to  die  for  the  Old  Flag?  If  so  let  them  stand  here 
against  this  wall  by  my  side." 

A  dozen  men,  most  of  them  disabled  soldiers  at  home  on 
furlough,  responded. 

Then  advancing  a  step  and  facing  them,  Logan  said :  "I've 
fought  Rebels  down  South,  and  I'm  now  ready  to  fight 
Rebels  up  North.  Do  you  hear  me?  Then  take  warning. 
I'm  going  to  count  three;  and  if,  at  the  expiratio'n  of  the 
third  count,  one  of  you  damn  cowardly  galoots  remains  I 
shall  order  my  men  to  fire.  Do  you  understand?  Very 
well." 

Logan  began  to  count. 

Instantly  there  was  a  mad,  wild  shuffling.  Bill  Snodgrass 
and  the  valorous  Knights  fled  precipitately.  The  bareheaded 
"desperado"  with  the  long  spurs,  the  two  revolvers,  and  the 
bowie-knife  in  his  mouth,  rushed  toward  Slattan's  emporium. 
Long-limbed  and  coatless  he  looked  like  a  huge  ambling 
spider.  In  less  than  sixty  seconds  all  the  "Terrors,"  and 
"Ripsnorters"  had  disappeared. 

Returning  to  the  platform  Logan  again  faced  the  crowd 
and,  laying  two  huge  revolvers  before  him  on  the  table, 
quietly  remarked,  "I  trust  I  shall  not  be  interrupted  again." 
Nor  was  he. 

Hugh  and  Freda  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled.  Logan's 
sarcasm  and  heroism  had  appealed  to  them.  Mind  and  heart 
now  were  ready  to  receive  the  message.  Colonel  Morton  saw 
the  expression  on  their  faces  and  inwardly  smiled.  To  him 
self  he  murmured,  "Oh,  this  is  glorious." 

Logan  was  victor. 

The  speech  that  followed  was  mainly  historical.     Hur- 


306  AMERICANS  ALL/ 

riedly  he  gave  an  account  of  the  drafting  of  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States,  and  the  difficulties  attending  its  adoption 
by  the  various  Commonwealths. 

Lucidly  he  explained  the  unique  character  and  preroga 
tives  of  the  Federal  Supreme  Court. 

He  then  discussed  the  drafting  of  the  Kentucky  Nullifi 
cation  Resolutions  by  Thomas  Jefferson,  which  assumed  for 
the  States  prerogatives  belonging  exclusively  to  the  Federal 
Government. 

Passing  on  he  considered  the  untenable  position  taken  by 
the  Federalists  fifteen  years  later,  and  the  treasonous  attitude 
of  the  Hartford  Convention,  pausing  a  moment  to  eulogize 
Clay  and  Madison. 

Next  he  discussed  the  controversy  between  Jackson  and 
the  South  Carolina  Nullifiers.  His  New  Richmond  audience 
fairly  idolized  "Old  Hickory,"  and  he  shrewdly  showed  them 
that  his,  Logan's,  positon,  which  was  also  Mr.  Lincoln's 
position,  was  exactly  the  position  of  Washington,  Madison, 
Monroe,  and  Jackson,  and,  in  fact,  of  most  of  the  framers 
and  fathers  of  the  National  Constitution. 

With  finest  strategy  he  then  proceeded  to  show  that  Jack 
son  was  right,  and  that  Calhoun  and  his  co-Nullifiers  were 
wrong — "Jackson  said,  'treasonously  wrong.'  " 

Then,  to  clinch  the  argument,  he  quoted  Jackson's  very 
words : 

"The  states  severally  have  not  retained  their  entire  sov 
ereignty.  It  has  been  shown  that  in  becoming  parts  of  a 
nation,  not  members  of  a  league,  they  surrendered  many  of 
the  essentials  of  sovereignty.  The  right  to  make  treaties, 
declare  war,  levy  taxes,  exercise  judicial  and  legislative 
powers,  were  all  of  them  functions  of  sovereignty.  The 
States  then,  for  all  these  important  purposes,  were  no  longer 
sovereign.  The  allegiance  of  their  citizens  was  transferred 
in  the  first  instance,  to  the  Government  of  the  United  States ; 
they  became  American  citizens  and  owed  obedience  to  the 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  307 

Constitution  of  the  United  States  and  to  laws  made  in  con 
formity  with  the  powers  it  vested  in  Congress.  How,  then, 
can  that  state  be  said  to  be  sovereign  and  independent  whose 
citizens  owe  obedience  to  laws  not  made  by  it,  and  whose 
magistrates  are  sworn  to  disregard  these  laws  when  they 
come  in  conflict  with  those  passed  by  another?" 

The  effect  of  Jackson's  words,  as  quoted  by  Logan,  was 
tremendous.  Above  all  others  did  his  hearers  believe  in 
Jackson.  To  them  what  Jackson  said  was  both  Law  and 
Gospel.  They  were  now  leaning  forward  with  absorbed  at 
tention.  To  them  it  seemed  that  Jackson  himself  was  speak 
ing.  Again  Logan  read  from  Jackson's  great  Proclamation : 

"Look  on  this  picture  of  happiness  and  honor  and  say: 
'We  are  citizens  of  America.'  And  then  add,  if  you  can, 
without  horror  and  remorse :  'This  happy  Union  we  will 
dissolve ;  this  picture  of  peace  and  prosperity  we  will  deface ; 
this  free  intercourse  we  will  interrupt ;  these  fertile  fields 
we  will  deluge  with  blood ;  the  protection  of  that  glorious 
flag  we  renounce ;  the  very  name  of  Americans  we  discard.' 
But  the  dictates  of  a  high  duty  oblige  me  to  solemnly 
announce  that  you  cannot  succeed.  The  laws  of  the  United 
States  must  be  executed.  I  have  no  discretionary  power ;  my 
duty  is  emphatically  pronounced  in  the  Constitution.  Those 
who  told  you  that  you  might  peaceably  prevent  their  execu 
tion  deceived  you ;  they  could  not  have  been  deceived  them 
selves.  They  know  that  a  forcible  opposition  could  alone 
prevent  the  execution  of  the  laws,  and  they  know  that  such 
opposition  must  be  repelled.  Their  object  is  disunion.  But 
be  not  deceived  by  names.  Disunion  by  armed  force  is 
treason.  Are  you  ready  to  incur  its  guilt?  If  you  are,  on 
the  heads  of  the  instigators  of  the  act  be  the  dreadful  conse 
quences  ;  on  their  heads  be  the  dishonor ;  but  on  your's  may 
fall  the  punishment.  Your  government  cannot  accede  to  the 
mad  project  of  disunion.  Its  First  Magistrate  cannot,  if  he 
would,  avoid  the  performance  of  his  duty.  The  consequences 
must  be  fearful." 

"Does  Old  Hickory  say  that  ?" 

It  was  Zed  Cummins  of  Troas  speaking.    Zed  was  a  South 


308  AMERICANS  ALD 

Carolinian.  His  great  shock  of  snow-white  hair,  and  massive 
shoulders,  had  attracted  Logan's  attention  before  he  began 
speaking;  and  he  had  ascertained  his  name,  and  the  state 
of  his  nativity.  His  face  was  disfigured  by  an  ugly  wound 
received  in  a  duel.  "Does  Old  Hickory  say  that?" 

"Yes,  Zed  Cummins,"  replied  Logan.  "And  he  said  more 
than  that.  He  said  some  things  that  ought  to  appeal  to  you. 
You  and  Andrew  Jackson,  one  of  the  greatest  and  noblest 
men  that  ever  lived,  were  born  in  the  same  state — in  the 
Waxhaw  settlement.  Both  of  you  are  South  Carolinians. 
On  both  sides  your  people  came  from  Ireland.  If  you've 
become  a  damned  Copperhead  it's  too  bad.  You've  come 
from  too  good  stock  to  be  mixed  up  with  these  cowardly 
white-livered  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle.  Your  mother 
was  a  Rutledge,  and  her  mother  was  an  Abercrombie — and 
in  their  veins  flowed  the  blood  of  the  two  houses  that  gave 
to  the  world  Robert  Emmet  and  Sallie  Curran.  And  you 
down  here  in  Southern  Illinois  doing  the  devil's  dirty  work ! 
Zed  Cummins,  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  But  hear  what  Jackson 
still  further  says : 

"  'There  is  yet  time  to  show  that  the  descendants  of  the 
Pinckneys,  the  Sumters,  the  Rutledges,  and  of  the  thousands 
of  other  names  which  adorn  the  pages  of  your  Revolutionary 
history  will  not  abandon  that  Union  to  support  which  so 
many  of  them  fought  and  bled  and  died.  I  adjure  you,  as 
you  honor  their  memory,  as  you  love  the  cause  of  freedom 
to  which  they  dedicated  their  lives,  as  you  prize  the  peace  of 
your  country,  the  lives  of  its  best  citizens,  and  your  fair 
fame,  to  retrace  your  steps.  Declare  that  you  will  never 
take  the  field  unless  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  shall  float 
over  you !' " 

Thus  on  and  on  the  dauntless  Logan  read  till  he  had  com 
pleted  the  entire  Proclamation;  then,  slowly  folding  it  and 
looking  the  audience  squarely  in  the  face,  he  solemnly  added : 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  309 

"This  day  is  the  Gospel  of  Law,  of  Honor,  and  of  Patriotism, 
according  to  Saint  Andrew  Jackson,  fulfilled  in  your  sight." 

No  priest  could  have  spoken  with  greater  unction,  and 
Uncle  Wick  Haxey  and  good  old  Aunt  Pop,  who  were  seated 
on  the  platform,  reverently  responded :  "A men  I" 

The  introduction  of  Jackson's  name,  and  the  reading  of 
his  Proclamation,  were  masterfully  strategic,  and  in  the  high 
est  sense  dramatic.  They,  with  Logan's  comments,  were  an 
unanswerable  argument,  save  to  those,  like  Dr.  Culpepper, 
who  were  undivorceably  wedded  to  the  South.  Logan's 
hearers,  misinformed  but  big-hearted,  now  showed  their  best 
side;  as,  earlier  in  the  day,  they  had  shown  their  worst. 
Cheer  upon  cheer  rang  out,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people 
was  boundless.  Demosthenes,  perhaps,  never  achieved  a 
greater  immediate  triumph. 

But  there  were  yet  a  few  malcontents,  one  of  whom  yelled : 

"Wat  about  thuh  nigger?" 

It  was  a  distinct  appeal  to  prejudice,  and  was  meant  to 
destroy  the  effect  of  the  great  speech  now  coming  to  an 
irresistible  conclusion.  Hugh  Grant  thought  the  asking  of  it, 
especially  at  that  time,  an  outrage.  An  orator  less  gifted,  or 
less  informed,  would  have  gone  amuck.  But  Logan  was 
equal  to  the  emergency. 

Going  back  to  the  Constitutional  convention,  he  showed 
that  all  the  colonies,  save  two,  disfavored  slavery,  as  did  the 
immortal  Washington.  Two  states,  however,  Georgia  and 
South  Carolina,  stood  out.  But  none  doubted  but  slavery, 
even  without  legal  abolition  or  prohibition,  was  doomed ; 
and  but  for  the  invention  of  certain  devices,  notably  Whit 
ney's  cotton  gin,  that  made  the  culture  of  cotton  enormously 
profitable,  slavery  probably  long  since  would  have  passed 
away. 

He  then  showed  that  slavery  had  been  a  constant  menace 
to  the  morals  of  both  whites  and  blacks ;  and  that,  commer- 


310  AMERICANS  ALD 

cially  and  industrially,  the  net  result  of  slavery  had  been  to 
degrade  white  labor,  and  the  poor  whites  socially,  till  the 
despicable  cognomen  of  "po'  white  trash"  had  come  to  be 
applied  to  all  non-slaveholders.  It  was  the  argumentum  ad 
hominem,  et-tu  Brutically  applied,  with  a  colossal  historic 
perspective. 

The  very  people  whom  Logan  was  addressing  were  mainly 
of  the  class  denominated,  even  by  the  "niggers"  who  despised 
them,  "po'  white  trash."  They  had  come  to  the  North  to 
escape  the  deadly  blight  of  a  bitterer  bondage,  these  Anglo- 
Saxons,  and  of  a  crueller  despotism — crueller  because  they 
were  Anglo-Saxons — than  any  bondage  or  despotism  the 
negro  had  ever  known. 

In  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  Virginia,  Georgia,  the  Carolinas, 
and  the  Gulf  states,  they  had  found  themselves  outclassed 
socially,  worse  off  domestically  and  financially,  and  in  every 
way  more  hampered  and  less  favored  than  the  "niggers" 
whom  they  had  both  envied  and  despised.  Better  far  and 
happier  the  lot  of  the  sable  servitors  of  the  mansion  in  those 
days  than  that  of  the  non-slaveholding  "po'  white  trash," 
even  though  they  were  blue-eyed,  fair-faced  Anglo-Saxons, 
and  nominally  free. 

For  the  negro,  labor  was  respectable,  honorable;  but  for 
them,  "the  po'  white  trash,"  labor  was  a  disgrace,  a  badge 
of  ignominy. 

They  had  seen  negroes  well-clothed,  pampered,  and  decked 
and  robed  in  livery  of  white  and  purple  and  gold,  while  they 
themselves  were  ragged,  and  hungry,  and  hopelessly 
nnesteemed. 

"In  short,"  said  Logan,  "Slavery  has  starved  you,  stripped 
you,  disgraced  you,  expatriated  you  from  your  beloved 
Sunny  Southland,  been  a  greater  curse  to  vou  than  all  other 
evils  combined — why,  then,  should  you  uphold  the  institution 
that  has  always  been  your  persecutor,  humiliator,  destroyer?" 


LOGAN'S  SPEECH  3H 

"But,"  Logan  continued,  "this  war  is  not  being  waged  for 
the  negro;  it  is  being  waged  for  you;  for  your  Constitution, 
for  your  Government,  to  maintain  your  inalienable  rights, 
and  liberty  to  work  out  in  their  entirety  and  accomplish  the 
glorious  dreams  and  purposes  of  Washington  and  Franklin, 
Hamilton  and  Marshall,  Clay  and  Webster,  and  last  but  not 
least,  of  our  own  great  and  adorable  Old  Hickory — the 
immortal  Andrew  Jackson. 

To  Colonel  Morton's  and  the  young  lawyer's  great  joy 
Hugh  and  Freda  were  won  to  the  Union — perforce. 

All  their  natural  inclinations  were  the  other  way.  They 
loved  the  South,  their  natal  state,  their  kindred,  their  parents. 
It  was  hard  to  turn  against  the  cause  so  dear  to  every  Grant 
and  Levering ;  and  to  espouse  the  principles  of  Lincoln  and 
the  North  would  be  like  leveling  a  sword  at  their  hearts. 
But  they  now  felt  that  South  Carolina,  however  conscien 
tious,  was  wrong;  the  South,  however  beautiful  and  high- 
souled  and  chivalrous,  was  in  error;  and  the  North,  in  its 
main  great  central  contention,  and  herculean  endeavor,  was 
right. 

The  disgraceful  scene,  too,  had  profoundly  moved  them, 
more,  perhaps,  than  even  Logan's  overwhelming  facts,  unan 
swerable  arguments,  and  impassioned  appeals.  By  heredity, 
instinct,  training,  and  personal  choice,  they  were  knightly, 
honorable,  valorous  souls ;  hence  the  Southern  sympathizers' 
treatment  of  Logan  was,  in  their  sight,  an  outrage — boorish, 
brutal,  vulgar,  disgraceful,  scandalous.  The  audience,  even 
the  quoter  and  expounder  of  the  odes  and  epodes  of  Horace, 
had  been  so  unfair,  illogical,  narrow  and  fanatical,  reckless 
and  regardless  of  even  the  common  amenities  and  decencies 
of  life.  Cast  their  lot  with  such  people?  Array  themselves 
in  opposition  to  such  as  Logan,  and  Lincoln,  and  Andrew 
Jackson,  and  George  Washington  ?  Impossible ! 


312  AMERICANS  ALU 

An  hour  later,  in  Logan's  presence,  and  with  Freda's  bene 
diction,  Hugh  Grant — the  first  of  more  than  a  hundred  who 
enlisted  that  day — became  a  Union  soldier.  A  week  later 
he  was  assigned  to  a  company  that  was  being  hurried  to  the 
front  to  reenforce  Sherman. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HALCYON   DAYS  OF   LOVE  —  A   SEARCHING  INQUIRY 


young  lawyer  was  in  the  anomalous  predicament  of 
-L  a  superbly  virile  young  man  absorbingly  in  love  against 
his  own  choice  and  volition  ;  a  captive  to  a  love  at  once 
mesmeric  and  tropically  intoxicating,  but  not  from  the 
woman  of  his  supreme  desire,  she,  unhappily  for  him,  being 
pledged  to  another  ;  led  on  by  a  love  that  was  lavished  upon 
him  without  stint,  and  that  colored  and  energized  his  entire 
being,  yet  always  left  him  under  a  vague  subconscious  appre 
hension  that  the  lethal,  languorous  heaven  into  which  he  had 
drifted,  and  to  whose  delicious  thrill  and  thrall  he  had 
yielded,  might  at  last  prove  to  be  unsatisfying,  disappointing, 
even  tragic. 

But  nothing  could  have  surpassed  Vergie's  winsomeness 
and  manner  of  loving.  She  had  been  called  the  Tigress,  but 
now  the  appellation  was  wholly  inapt,  save  her  extraor 
dinary  litheness  and  bewildering  beauty.  On  the  other  hand 
there  was  a  sort  of  pathos  in  the  completeness  of  her  yielding 
to  the  first  great  passion  she  had  ever  known.  So  complete 
was  her  subjection  to  it,  and  so  unquestioningly  acquiescent 
was  she  to  every  desire  of  the  one  beloved,  a  less  worthy 
lover  might  have  been  unduly  emboldened.  Not  that  she 
was  lacking  in  those  little  arts  of  coquetry  that  come  so 
naturally  to  women  :  simulated  reluctance,  momentary  hesi 
tation,  the  apparently  fixed  resolve  never  to  grant  the  boon 
desired  only  to  be  followed  by  the  tumultuous  granting  of 
all,  and  a  little  more  —  but  never  any  concealment  of  the  fact 

313 


314  AMERICANS  ALL 

that  she  had  completely  surrendered,  in  love  and  honor,  to 
the  man  of  her  supreme  delight. 

Nor  were  there  lacking  those  elements  of  difficulty  that 
add  zest  and  intensity  to  the  ardors  and  delights  of  wooing. 
For  many  reasons  the  lovers  could  meet  only  clandestinely. 
That  Simonson  was  in  the  service  of  the  Federal  Govern 
ment  was  known  only  to  Judge  Gildersleeve,  Amsden  Ar- 
mentrout,  and  the  recruiting  officer ;  and  yet  that  he  was  in 
sympathetic  cooperation  with  the  supporters  of  the  Adminis 
tration  was  obvious  to  all.  Hence  for  it  to  be  blazoned 
abroad  that  he  was  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the  boldest 
and  most  thoroughly  hated  Copperhead  in  Raleigh  County 
would  have  utterly  discredited  him  in  every  way;  he  would 
have  been  sneered  at  as  another  Samson,  hoodwinked  and 
led  astray  by  a  woman's  wiles,  and  she  would  have  been  re- 
christened  "Delilah." 

Vergie's  position  was  even  more  critical.  From  the  begin 
ning  her  mother  had  disliked  the  young  lawyer ;  and,  with  a 
woman's  keen  intuition,  had  discerned  and  declared  him  to 
be  New  Richmond's  most  dangerous  man  to  the  Confederate 
cause,  a  declaration  which  no  one  took  seriously,  least  of  all 
any  member  of  her  own  family.  The  great  sorrow  that  had 
come  to  her  when  Harold  went  away  she  had  promptly 
charged  to  the  young  lawyer's  account.  As  to  the  literal 
fact  she  was  in  error ;  and  yet,  in  the  main,  she  was  not  mis 
taken.  Brooding  over  the  long  lost  letter  from  her  cousin, 
Jefferson  Davis ;  the  rude  shattering  of  her  dream  of  seeing 
her  daughter  married  to  the  wealthy  and  aristocratic  Felix 
Palfrey,  the  young  lawyer  again  vaguely  appearing  as  the 
cause  of  her  daughter's  refusal  to  consent  to  the  earnest 
and  importunate  pleadings  of  the  Frenchman;  her  daugh 
ter's  almost  fatal  illness,  during  which  certain  of  her  utter 
ances,  though  spoken  when  she  was  delirious,  had  both  con- 


HALCYON  DAYS.  OF  LOVE  315 

firmed  her  suspicion  that  her  daughter  was  infatuated  with 
the  young  lawyer,  and  intensified  her  dislike  of  him ;  all, 
combined  with  the  loyal  element's  ever-increasing  hostility 
to  the  Culpeppers,  the  apostasy  of  the  Gildersleeves  and  the 
Goldbecks,  and  then  the  defection  of  her  own  son,  had 
resulted  in  a  serious  collapse  of  her  never  rugged  health, 
and  the  perfecting  of  Samuel  Simonson  as  her  supreme  bete 
noir. 

Only  twice  had  Vergie's  conduct  been  such  as  to  warrant 
her  in  giving  vent  to  her  antipathy:  when  Vergie  had  so 
strangely,  to  her  it  seemed  immodestly,  invited  the  young 
lawyer  to  her  camera  da  letto  the  night  he  had  returned  to 
report  the  quelling  of  the  mob ;  and  when  a  rustic  lover  had 
reported  to  his  sweetheart,  a  servant  at  The  Elms,  that  twice 
he  had  seen  Miss  Culpepper  and  Mr.  Simonson  together, 
many  miles  from  New  Richmond,  on  the  Serepta  road.  To 
this  gossip  of  an  "inferior"  Charlotte  Culpepper  scorned  to 
give  credence,  though  it  afforded  her 'an  opportunity  to 
express  herself  to  Vergie. 

Dr.  Culpepper  at  first,  to  the  contrary,  had  rather  liked  the 
young  lawyer ;  but  when  he  had  learned  that  he  had  "broken 
bread"  with  Lincoln  and,  though  a  Missourian,  was  not  a 
Secessionist,  he  had  begun  to  view  him  with  less  favor ;  and, 
finally,  when  he  had  concluded,  despite  Armentrout's  stout 
denial,  that  the  young  lawyer  was  responsible  for  his  son's 
"infamous"  conduct,  his  bitterness  knew  no  bounds. 

Under  such  conditions  it  was  manifestly  impossible  for 
Vergie  to  receive  the  young  lawyer  at  The  Elms.  However, 
it's  "an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  man  good." 

Dr.  Boynton,  who  was  Mrs.  Culpepper's  physician — for 
no  doctor  ever  prescribes  for  his  own  family — long  had 
advised  his  patient  to  try  the  climate  and  waters  of  Rock- 
castle  Springs,  among  the  wild  and  craggy  highlands  of 


316  AMERICANS  ALL 

Pulaski  County,  Kentucky.  To  this  advice  she  had 
demurred,  not  only  because  of  her  unwillingness  to  leave 
her  husband  and  daughter  exposed  to  so  many  perils,  but 
also,  on  account  of  her  great  faith  in  the  professional  skill 
and  wisdom  of  Dr.  Boynton. 

But  when  Dr.  Boynton  became  a  state  prisoner  at  Gleopas 
Mrs.  Culpepper  consented  to  be  removed  to  the  Kentucky 
health  resort.  Vergie  had  desired  to  accompany  her  mother, 
but  this  was  promptly  vetoed.  "It  will  be  almost  like  return 
ing  home,"  she  had  said,  "to  go  to  Rockcastle  Springs; 
besides,  your  father  needs  you  now  more  than  I  do,  espe 
cially  since  Harold's  gone." 

Thus,  according  to  the  mother's  instructions,  the  father 
was  to  look  after  the  daughter,  and  the  daughter  was  to 
take  care  of  her  father. 

But  these  were  busy  days  for  Dr.  Culpepper.  Chills  and 
fever  were  unusually  prevalent,  typhoid  and  pneumonia  had 
become  epidemic,  and  at  Pewaumee  there  were  probably  a 
dozen  families  stricken  with  smallpox.  It  was  alleged  that 
they  had  "caught"  the  smallpox  from  infected  clothing  sent 
North  by  the  Confederate  Government,  hoping  thereby  to 
greatly  distress  and  cripple  their  enemies — a  monstrous 
charge  and  wholly  without  proof. 

But  however  much  the  loyalists  might  despise  Dr.  Cul- 
pepper's  politics,  no  one  questioned  his  preeminence  as  a 
physician;  accordingly  by  day  and  by  night  he  was  con 
stantly  busy,  no  longer  menaced,  because  it  was  known 
that  he  was  on  errands  of  mercy  and  healing. 

Who  shall  blame  the  young  lovers  for  rejoicing  over  such 
opportunities  as  now  were  afforded  them  for  seeing  each 
other,  with  no  obstacles  in  the  way  save  three  or  four  old 
servants  who  were  devoted  to  their  young  mistress?  And 
who  shall  blame  them  for  making  the  most  of  them  ? 


HALCYON  DAYS  OF  LOVE  317 

Thus,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  the  intelligence  would 
find  its  way  to  the  young  lawyer  that  "the  coast  is  clear. 
Papa  is  gone  to  Troas,"  or  Pawaumee,  or  Thyratira,  or 
Fairhaven,  or  Centreville,  or  Postville,  or  Enochsburg,  or 
Serepta,  or  the  Mule  Creek  settlement,  or  to  the  Mount 
Catherine  neighborhood — "will  be  gone  all  day ;"  or,  "all  the 
afternoon ;"  or,  "until  almost  midnight." 

If  there  be  those  who  would  criticise  Vergie  let  them 
remember  her  great  love,  and  the  imperious  call  of  the 
rnating-instinct  that  will  not  be  denied,  and  cannot  be  sup 
pressed,  combined  with  the  fullness  of  satisfaction  she  found 
in  the  high-souled,  honorable  man  to  whom  she  had  com 
mitted  everything;  and  if  the  young  lawyer  be  criticised 
for  yielding  to  her  call,  in  the  midst  of  war  and  war's 
alarms  and  the  prosecution  of  his  great  profession,  at  least 
it  can  be  pleaded  for  him  that  everything  in  him  answered  to 
her  call,  as  the  sense  of  taste  thrills  at  the  sight  of  a  delicious 
potion ;  in  short,  that  he  yielded  to  her  lure  because  she  w.as 
physically  charming,  vitally  exhilarating,  and  intellectually 
qualified  to  meet  him  in  his  own  arena  and  make  her  com 
panionship  a  constant  delight. 

In  some  respects  Vergie  was  his  superior.  She  had  a 
social  grace  and  culture,  to  him  most  captivating,  which  he 
did  not  possess.  From  her  mother  she  had  learned  the 
Romance  languages  and  with  her  had  attained  a  fluency  and 
felicity  of  expression  in  them  that  had  surprised  and 
delighted  even  the  accomplished  Felix  Palfrey,  and  here  he 
was  wholly  lacking.  Even  in  the  classics,  thanks  to  her 
father's  training,  she  was  the  young  lawyer's  equal,  and  in 
the  Doctor's  beloved  Horace  she  surpassed  him. 

But  it  must  be  confessed  that  as  a  lover  he  was  very 
human,  often  preferring  the  honied  sweets  of  her  lips  to  the 
most  exquisite  verse  her  tongue  could  utter,  and  the  touch 


318  AMERICANS  ALL 

of  her  hand  to  all  the  odes  and  epodes  of  the  Horatian  muse. 

One  summer  evening  at  The  Elms  they  were  seated  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  a  bower  of  honeysuckles  through  which  only 
an  occasional  moonbeam  penetrated,  she  with  all  the  con- 
fidingness  of  innocence  nestling  her  head  against  his  breast, 
when  he  bent  low  and  whispered:  "Darling,  if  some  day 
beyond  the  altar  and  the  orange  blossoms  you  should  become 
the  mama  of  a  sweet  babe,  yours  and  mine,  my  happinest. 
and  reverence  for  you  would  know  no  bounds." 

Instantly  her  whole  body  trembled,  and  reaching  up  she 
drew  his  head  down  and  gave  him  a  kiss  he  never  forgot, 
it  was  so  clinging,  so — passionate. 

Betweenwhiles  the  young  lawyer  was  driven  with  work 
and  anxious  with  many  cares ;  for  the  tide  both  political  and 
military  was  against  the  Union ;  but  to  Vergie  the  cares  and 
conflicts  of  the  world  had  become  unreal,  phantasmagoric, 
and  to  his  surprise  the  little  interest  she  manifested  was  in 
favor  of  the  cause  so  near  and  dear  to  his  heart.  He  was 
not  versed  in  the  lore  of  women,  else  he  would  have  known 
that  it  is  their  nature  to  espouse  the  cause  of  the  men  they 
love. 

Hence,  at  first,  for  fear  of  wounding  her,  he  spoke  but 
guardedly  of  the  progress  of  events;  and  then,  seeing  she 
took  no  offense,  more  fully.  As  disasters  multiplied,  and 
the  outlook  for  the  Union  became  more  and  more  alarming, 
and  she  marked  the  care-look  in  his  eyes,  and  the  deep 
ening  care-lines  in  his  face,  she  surprised  him  yet  more  by 
her  tender  and  unaffected  sympathy.  Even  the  issuance  of 
the  Emancipation  Proclamation  on  the  Twenty-Second  of 
September  did  not  lessen  her  devotion  to  her  lover. 

"Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  all  your  troubles.  Believe  me, 
I  am  most  sorrowful  on  your  account,"  she  would  say, 
pressing  his  hand  and  playfully  asking  if  "great  big  fine 


HALCYON  DAYS  OF  LOVE  319 

birds  that  soar  to  the  skies,  and  that  have  such  searching 
eyes,  and  strong  wings,  and  are  so  imperious,  are  really  so 
very  fond  of  cherries?"  a  roguish  way  she  had  of  inviting 
kisses — then  offering  him  a  pair  of  tempting  cherry-red  lips 
to  feast  upon. 

Thus  gradually  she  became  his  confidante  and  counsellor 
in  all  save  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle — he  knew  that 
her  father  was  a  co-conspirator  and,  with  a  delicacy  that 
did  him  honor,  and  greatly  enhanced  him  in  her  sight,  never 
referred  to  that  organization.  The  Maine  election,  at  which 
the  Administration  majority  was  reduced  from  19,000  to 
4,000,  profoundly  grieved  Mr.  Lincoln ;  and  the  young  law 
yer  told  Vergie  all  about  it.  Even  more  disappointing  were 
the  October  states :  Ohio  sent  only  five  Republicans  to  Con 
gress,  but  fourteen  Democrats ;  Indiana,  three  Republicans 
and  eight  Democrats ;  Pennsylvania,  that  had  given  Mr. 
Lincoln  a  majority  of  60,000,  now  gave  a  Democratic 
majority  of  4,000 ;  New  York  had  elected  Horatio  Seymour 
by  a  majority  of  10,000;  then,  finally,  Illinois  had  gone 
against  Lincoln  and  his  Administration  17,000  strong,  and 
sent  to  Congress  three  Republicans,  over  against  eleven 
Democrats,  Raleigh  County,  of  course,  going  almost  solidly 
Democratic.  To  his  great  comfort  the  young  lawyer  saw 
that  Vergie  was  not  elated,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  shared 
with  him  his  distress. 

"I  do  not  fully  understand  all  these  things,"  she  said, 
stealing  her  hand  into  his,  "but  I  do  sympathize  with  you, 
and,  oh,  so  much  wish  you  could  have  everything  your  own 
way." 

Thus  encouraged,  and  finding  so  much  consolation  in  her 
sympathy,  he  detailed  to  her  the  military  troubles  of  the 
President :  what  a  thorn  in  his  side  McClellan  had  become ; 
how  that  Buell  and  Butler  and  Burnside  and  Pope  and 
Halleck  had  tried  him  to  the  utmost ;  the  cruel  so-called  vie- 


320  AMERICANS  ALD 

tory  of  Antietam — it  was  a  long  story  and,  from  the  North 
ern  point  of  view,  pitiful ;  but  one  in  which  an  ardent  South 
erner  would  find  much  over  which  to  exult.  But  Vergie 
bade  the  young  lawyer  have  courage.  "If  the  North  be 
right — and  I'm  myself  almost  a  Yankee  since  you've  come 
into  my  life,  or  rather  have  become  my  life,  and  now  Harold 
is  on  your  side — presently  wise  leaders  will  be  found,  and 
Right  will  be  victorious." 

Early  in  December  Simonson,  at  the  request  of  the  Presi 
dent,  made  another  tour  of  Southern  Illinois,  visiting  not 
only  the  places  he  had  previously  visited  but  as  many  more 
towns. 

The  young  lawyer  was  amazed  to  mark  the  increase  of 
dis-Union  sentiment.  Everywhere  he  found  the  Knights  of 
the  Golden  Circle  strongly  organized  and  defiant.  McClel- 
lan's  retirement  was  denounced  as  an  outrage,  the  Battle 
of  Antietam  hailed  as  a  glorious  Confederate  victory,  and 
the  taking  of  Harper's  Ferry  declared  to  be  a  disgrace  to 
the  Union  army.  Grant's  movement  toward  Vicksburg  was 
regarded  as  a  wild  goose  chase,  to  be  accounted  for  on  the 
theory  that  Grant  was  more  drunk  than  usual.  The  political 
reverses  of  the  Administration  had  been  celebrated  with 
bonfires  at  Egypto,  where  Lincoln  and  Douglas  had  debated, 
and  at  Lindau,  Salamis,  Salerno,  and  Ann  Eliza.  Some  of 
the  more  moderate  papers  had  announced  George  B.  McClel- 
lan  of  New  Jersey,  and  Horatio  Seymour  of  New  York,  as 
their  choice  to  head  the  next  National  Democratic  ticket; 
others  more  enthusiastic  had  nailed  to  the  masthead  the 
names  of  Vallandigham  and  Pendleton. 

As  on  his  previous  tour  he  observed  women's  deep  interest 
in  politics  and  that  they  were  even  more  bitter  than  the 
men,  many  of  them  referring  to  Logan  as  that  "Black- 
Devil,"  while  Lincoln  was  commonly  called  "The  Babboon." 

Babes,  too,  usually  bore  Southern  names,  the  full  name 


HALCYON  DAYS  OF  LOVE  321 

now  being  given  to  emphasize  their  loyalty  to  the  Confed 
eracy.  Thus:  "Jefferson  Davis  Smith,"  "Robert  E.  Lee 
Brown,  "Robert  Toombs  Jones,"  while  even  girl-babies 
effloresced  as  "Lea,"  "Roberta,"  "Jeffersonia,"  "Jacksonia," 
"Johnstonia,"  and  "Alexandria,"  in  honor  of  Davis,  Lee, 
Stonewall  Jackson,  Toombs,  Stephens,  and  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston. 

But  as  most  of  the  mothers  were  of  Southern  lineage  and 
many  of  them  had  kinsmen  fighting  under  the  Stars  and 
Bars  he  was  not  surprised  at  their  passionate  devotion  to 
the  Southern  Confederacy. 

Possibly,  too,  his  gentle  leniency  of  judgment  was  in  some 
measure  due  to  the  loyalty  to  him  of  a  certain  other  woman 
who  for  love  of  him  had  broken  away  not  only  from  the 
South  but  also  from  the  sacred  faith  so  tenaciously  held  by 
her  parents. 

The  Fourteenth  of  December  was  a  memorable  day 
throughout  the  Nation.  On  that  day  and  the  Fifth  of  the 
following  May  despairing  gloom  in  the  North  reached  its 
nadir  and  triumphant  hope  in  the  South  its  zenith;  for  on 
the  Fourteenth  of  December  the  Nation  learned  of  Burn- 
side's  terrible  defeat  at  Fredericksburg  with  the  loss  of 
10,208  killed  and  wounded,  and  2,145  missing — that,  too, 
with  an  army  of  113,000  against  Lee's  78,288.  And  on  the 
Fifth  of  the  following  May  the  Nation  got  the  news  of 
Hooker's  Waterloo  at  Chancellorsville,  losing  17,197  men, 
14  guns,  and  20,000  stands  of  arms — yet  with  an  army  of 
124,500  men  opposed  by  only  half  that  number  under  the 
command  of  Lee. 

The  almost  utter  destruction  of  the  Union  army  at  Fred 
ericksburg,  following  the  signal  September,  October  and 
November  political  reverses,  created  a  veritable  frenzy  of 
joy  in  the  hearts  of  Southern  sympathizers  everywhere,  but 


322  AMERICANS  AL]j 

nowhere  greater  than  among  the  Raleigh  County  Knights  of 
the  Golden  Circle. 

The  news  reached  New  Richmond  a  little  before  noon 
when  the  Enochsburg  stage  arrived,  bringing  the  daily 
papers. 

"That's  a  victory  I  mean  to  celebrate,"  said  Dr.  Culpepper 
at  the  noonday  meal. 

"What  is  it,  Papa?"  inquired  Vergie,  who  now  occupied 
her  mother's  place  at  the  table.  "Another  battle?" 

"I  should  say  so.  Listen" : — turning  to  the  paper  and 
reading  the  headlines — 'Great  Victory  for  the  South !  Burn- 
side  Utterly  Routed !  Southern  Valor  and  Generalship  More 
Glorious  Than  Ever !  Lee  Greater  Than  Napoleon !  Union 
Soldiers  Killed,  10,208;  Missing,  2,145!'  How's  that, 
Daughter?  Glory  be!" 

"O  Papa,  isn't  it  terrible  ?" 

"Terrible  ?    What  do  you  mean,  Vergie  ?" 

"Oh,  the  killing  of  so  many  poor  men,  Papa." 

"Not  if  they're  black  Republicans  trying  to  subjugate  a 
liberty-loving  people,  and  trampling  the  Constitution  under 
their  dirty  feet." 

"But,  O  Papa,  is  it  as  bad  as  that?" 

The  Doctor  was  now  thoroughly  angry.  "See  here, 
Daughter,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"Why — what  do  you  mean,  Papa?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean,  Daughter."  The  Doctor  always 
said  "daughter"  when  very  angry.  "You  haven't  been 
talking  right  for  some  time ;  in  fact,  since  your  mother,  God 
bless  her,  went  away.  All  you've  been  saying  for  the  last — 
well,  since  Boynton's  arrest,  has  been,  'Yes,  Papa!  No, 
Papa !'  Why  don't  you  flare  up  like  you  used  to,  and  stand 
by  your  father  ?  What's  come  over  you,  anyway  ?" 

"Why,  Papa,  how  you  talk !  Nothing's  come  over  me. 
Don't  be  cross  with  me.  Am  I  not  your  little  girl?"  going 


HALCYON  DAYS  OF  LCtf  333 

around  the  table  to  him,  and  putting  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

But  the  stern  old  "Knight"  was  not  as  easily  mollified  as 
usual. 

"Out  with  it,  Daughter !    You're  not  the  same." 

"But  I  am,  Papa.  I  can  never  be  other  than  your  faithful 
little  girl,  even  though  I  should  become  ever  and  ever  so 
big !"  drawing  herself  up  to  her  queenly  height,  and  opening 
wide  her  shapely  arms. 

The  Doctor  was  eyeing  her  keenly. 

"See  here,  Vergie,  there  is  something  the  matter,  I  tell 
you.  For  weeks  I've  noticed  it.  You've  been  excited,  and 
nervous,  and  absent-minded.  Sometimes  your  cheeks  are 
too  red,  and  your  respiration's  too  rapid.  You've  got  a  low 
fever  of  some  sort.  I  must  give  you  some " 

"I  won't  take  your  old  aconite,  Papa ;  and  I'm  not  going 
to  take  belladonna ;  and  I'm  not  going  to " 

"If  you  don't  shut  up  I'll  give  you  some  Rochelle  pow 
ders."  For  a  moment  the  Doctor  chuckled  at  his  medicated 
joke. 

"But,  seriously,  Vergie,  something's  going  on  around  here 
that  I  don't  understand.  You're  a  good  little  girl,  my  love, 
but  you're  too  excited,  and — and  happy." 

"But,  Papa,  don't  you  want  your  little  girl  to  be  happy?" 

"Oh,  yes,  damn  it !  Excuse  your  father,  Vergie.  I  didn't 
mean  to  swear.  But  how  can  you  be  so  happy,  my  darling, 
with  your  mother,  your  precious  mother,  away,  ,and  this 
damnable  war  going  on,  and " 

"But  how  can  I  keep  from  being  happy  as  the  day  is  long 
when " 

She  caught  herself  just  in  time.  She  was  about  to  say, 
"When  the  best,  the  noblest,  the  truest,  the  dearest  man  in 
all  the  world  loves  me  with  all  his  heart,  and  I  love  him 
with  all  my  heart,  and  some  day — Oh,  well."  But  she 


324  AMERICANS  ALL 

checked  herself  and  halted,  lamely. 

"  'When' — what,  Vergie  ?    You  didn't  finish  the  sentence." 

"When  I'm  so — well,  and  have — the  dearest  papa  in  the 
world,"  giving  him  a  rousing  kiss. 

"Look  here,  little  sweetheart.  Look  your  father  in  the 
face.  Let  me  look  into  your  eyes — deep,  deep  down." 

"All  right,  Papa,"  kneeling  before  him  and  looking  up, 
laughingly,  into  his  stern  and  careworn  countenance.  "Now, 
Papa,  what  do  you  see?" 

"I  see,"  looking  long  and  wistfully  while  his  own  face 
softened,  and  a  tender  look  came  into  his  eyes — "I  don't 
understand  it,  little  one.  I  see  in  your  face  the  same  look 
I  saw  iii  your  blessed  mother's  face  long  years  ago.  It  was 
out  in  the  country,  down  near  Lexington ;  and  we'd  been  to 
church,  I  now  remember,  and  were  strolling  home  together 
across  the  meadow.  And  Charlotte,  that's  your  blessed 
mother,  was  carrying  a  bouquet  of  roses  in  her  hand,  such 
roses  as  grow  only  in  Kentucky.  And  I  had  been  pleading 
for  her  love  a  long  time,  but,  somehow,  it  didn't  seem  that 
I  was  succeeding  at  all.  Folks  don't  love  these  days  as 
they  used  to,  little  one." 

"O  Papa " 

"And  this  particular  day  it  just  seemed  that  I  couldn't 
live  if  she  didn't  love  me,  and  I  poured  out  my  very  soul 
to  her." 

"Oh,  and  what  did  you  say,  Papa  ?" 

"Don't  remember  now  the  exact  words,  my  darling;  but 
it  was  all  about  love ;  and  how  there's  nothing  in  the  world 
worth  living  for  save  love;  and  how  that  when  folks  love 
nothing  else  matters  much ;  and  how  that  I  just  couldn't 
live  any  longer  without  her;  and " 

"And ?  O  Papa,  please  do  go  on !"  Vergie's  eyes  were 

sparkling,  and  her  face  was  radiant.  "And — what  did 
Mama  say?  'Oh,  Mees-taire!  Thees  ees  zo  ver'  soot-ten/ 


HALCYON  DAYS  OP  LOVE  335 

Yo'  ver'  kin'!  Oui,  oui,  a  la  Fee-leex?'  making  a  comical 
shrug  and  grimace.  Or:  'Oh,  noble  sir,  I  thank  you  sir, 
indeed  I  do;  but  I  cannot  become  your  bride  because  I  do 
not  like  the  color  of  your  hair — you  see,  it  wouldn't  har 
monize  with  my  complexion?'  Or:  'Most  esteemed  and 
respected  sir,  I  am  honored  by  your  proposal,  but  in  my — 
my  boudoir  I've  registered  a  vow,  a  solemn  vow,  that  I'd 
wed  only  an  Ear-rl,  and  ever  live  in  a  palace  gr-rand!' 
What  did  Mama  say?" 

"Why — when  I  had  exhausted  all  my  love-words,  and  it 
seemed  that  my  heart  would  break,  and,  having  given  up 

all  hope,  was  turning  away,  she  quietly  said "  The  good 

Doctor  had  suddenly  become  reminiscent,  and  there  was  a 
far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 

"But,  Papa — what  did  Mama  say? 

"Oh — Oh,  ever  so  quietly,  'Fairfax  dear,  why  don't  you 
pick  up  your  cluster  of  four-leaved  clover?'  And  sure 
enough  I  was  about  to  step  on  a  bunch  of  four-leaved,  or 
good-luck,  clover.  And  then,  all  at  once,  I  knew  what  she 
meant.  I  just  forgot  everything  and  took  her  in  my  arms ; 
and  she,  blessed  angel,  didn't  resist  a  bit.  And  I  looked 
down  into  her  sweet  face  and  saw — I — I — saw " 

"Yes,  yes,  Papa!    You're  so  slow!    What  did  you  see?" 

"Vergie,"  taking  her  face  between  his  two  open  palms, 
and  gazing  long  in  her  eyes,  "I  saw  the  same  look  in  her 
face  then  that  I  see  in  your  face  now.  Tell  me,  darling,  tell 
your  father — are  you  in  love  with  anybody?  I  never  saw 
this  look  in  your  face  before.  Has  somebody  been  stealing 
my  little  girl's  heart?" 

It  was  a  hard  moment  for  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper.  What 
should  she  say — what  could  she  say?  Tell  her  father  a  lie? 
The  Culpeppers  never  lied !  The  Culpeppers  might  love  the 
South,  be  Rebels,  Copperheads  even,  but  no  Culpepper  ever 
told  a  lie — or  did  a  dishonorable  thing.  No,  she  wouldn't 


326  AMERICANS  ALL 

lie  to  her  father.  Tell  him  the  truth?  Yes — but  not  now. 
She  must  put  him  off,  resort  to  coquetry,  use  her  wit,  but, 
oh,  for  many  reasons,  she  must  not  at  present  tell  him  about 
Samuel  Simonson.  She  knew  how  her  father  hated  the 
young  lawyer;  he  would  hunt  him  up  and  kill  him — but 
no,  thank  God,  he  was  away  on  a  long  tour  through  the 
southern  counties  of  the  state.  Anyhow,  she  wouldn't  tell 
her  father  for  a  few  days. 

"Vergie,  dear,  answer  your  father.    Tell  me " 

"Massa,  gemmen  ut  de  doah  wan'  tuh  see  yuh,  suh."  It 
was  Betzeliza,  one  of  the  colored  servants. 

When  the  Doctor  returned,  Vergie  had  gone  to  her  room. 

Soon  Vergie  saw  her  father,  assisted  by  two  colored 
servitors,  piling  rails  and  kerosene  barrels  in  a  great  heap 
near  the  house. 

From  her  chamber  window,  upstairs,  Vergie  called: 
"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Papa?" 

"Going  to  celebrate !"  was  his  terse  reply. 

"Celebrate  what?" 

"The  glorious  victory  of  our  army  at  Fredericksburg  yes 
terday —  10,208  Yankees  killed!  2,145  Yankees  missing! 
Glory  be!" 

Vergie  flew  down  the  stairs,  ran  out  into  the  yard,  took 
her  father  by  the  arm,  and  pleadingly  said: 

"Papa,  please  don't  do  that!"  Tears  now  were  raining 
down  her  face. 

Angrily  turning  on  her,  he  shouted :  "What !  Have  you, 
also,  turned  Yankee?" 

"No,  Papa,  not  that  now.  But  think!  You  don't  know 
where — where  Brother  is.  Maybe  he's  dead,  too.  You 
wouldn't  make  merry  over  our — our  Harold's  death,  would 
you — Papa  ?" 

"Never  again  mention  that  name  in  my  presence — unduti- 


HALCYON  DAYS  OF  LOVE  327 

ful,  ungrateful,  disobedient  son!     Go  into  the  house  this 
minute !    Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

Vergie  knew  it  was  useless  to  plead  longer,  and  turned, 
with  a  sorrowful  and  foreboding  heart,  and  went  back  into 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS — SIMONSON  SHOT  BY  ROD  CLARKE 

ALL  the  afternoon  rails  and  other  fuel  were  piled  on  the 
roaring  fire,  and  the  flames  leaped  madly  toward  the 

heavens. 

At  first  the  kind-hearted  neighbors  rushed  to  The  Elms 
to  help  stay  the  conflagration,  not  dreaming  that  it  was  a 
festal  bonfire.  To  all  inquiries  the  Doctor  made  the  same 
reply : 

"I'm  celebrating  our  victory  yesterday  at  Fredericksburg 
— 10,208  Yankees  killed;  2,145  Yankees  missing.  Glory  be!" 

About  8  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a  timid  tapping  on  a  side 
door  was  heard  at  The  Elms.  Dr.  Culpepper,  still  excited, 
shirt-collar  open  and  sleeves  rolled  up,  little  resembling  the 
fastidious  Quoth  Horace  of  happier  days,  leaped  and  opened 
the  door.  Only  the  dim  outline  of  a  woman  was  visible. 

"Please,  Dr.  Culpepper,"  a  low  and  tremulous  voice  en 
treated,  "may  I  come  in?" 

The  Doctor's  chivalry  was  instantly  to  the  fore.  "Cer 
tainly,  certainly,  maid  or  madam,  step  right  in."  The  visitor 
entered. 

"Whom  have  I  the  honor  of "  He  saw  her  face.  It 

was  Marjorie  Gildersleeve.  For  a  moment  his  whole  being 
was  convulsed.  A  fierce  oath  leaped  to  his  lips ;  then,  after 
a  moment,  he  managed  to  control  himself. 

"Damn  your  turncoat  father!  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss 
Marjorie.  No  Culpepper  ever  showed  disrespect  to  a 
woman,  not  even  to  the  kinswoman  of  an  enemy.  Miss 

328 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  329 

Marjorie,  won't  you  have  a  seat  by  the  fireplace?  It's 
rather  nippy  out  to-night.  I  didn't  know  you'd  returned 
from  Cincinnati." 

Marjorie  had  thrown  back  the  shawl  that  covered  her 
head  and  was  standing  before  the  irate  Doctor,  very  white, 
while  the  light  from  the  overhanging  chandelier  transformed 
her  golden  hair  into  a  nimbus  such  as  the  early  masters 
used  to  paint  about  the  heads  of  saints  and  angels. 

"Or,"  as  an  after-thought,  "perhaps  you'd  better  come 
with  me  and  I'll  take  you  up  to  Vergie's  room;  of  course 
you  came  to  see  her." 

"No — yes — O  Dr.  Culpepper,  I've  come  to  see  both  of 
you.  See !  I  just  grabbed  a  shawl  and  came  flying.  Do 
get  Vergie  and  run  for  your  lives!" 

It  was  an  honest,  earnest  speech,  but  exceedingly  unfor 
tunate. 

"Miss  Marjorie,"  proudly  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  "you  forget  that  I'm  a  Kentuckian.  No  Kentuckian 
ever  takes  to  his  heels!  Please  be  seated  and  I'll  call  Miss 
Culpepper." 

The  dauntless  Kentuckian  had  spoken  as  calmly,  and 
with  as  great  courtesy  and  gallantry,  as  though  he  had 
been  at  a  state  ball  at  Versailles,  and  had  said  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  "Pray,  be  seated.  I  shall  immediately  ap 
prise  His  Imperial  Majesty  of  your  arrival." 

"But  you  don't  understand,  Dr.  Culpepper!"  cried  Mar 
jorie,  now  growing  desperate.  "A  mob's  coming.  They 
mean  to  kill  you.  A  moment's  delay  may  be  fatal.  Oh,  the 
very  air  is  shrieking  'Murder,  murder!'  ever  since  you  built 
the  bonfire  this  afternoon.  They  hate  you,  hate  you — and 
they've  guns  and  revolvers,  and  they'll  kill  you,  and — and 
Vergie.  You're  brave — of  course  you  are ;  all  Southerners 
are  heroes!  But  for  Vergie's  sake,  your  own  and  only 
daughter's  sake " 


330  AMEEICAN8  ALL 

» 

"You  needn't  be  concerned  for  me,  Miss  Gildersleeve." 
It  was  the  deep,  clear,  resonant  voice  of  Virginia  Culpep- 
per  who  had  come  into  the  room,  unobserved,  just  in  time 
to  hear  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation. 

"O  Vergie !" 

"Miss  Culpcpper,  please!" 

Marjorie's  eyes  instantly  filled  with  tears.  "Miss  Cul- 
pepper,"  Marjorie  cried,  crossing  the  room  to  take  Vergie's 
hands,  that  she  might  the  more  effectively  plead  with  her. 

"Do  not  touch  me,  please."  So  Fate  might  have  spoken, 
could  his  sculptured  lips  have  broken  into  articulate  speech. 

"But,  Doctor  and  Miss  Culpepper,  may  I  not  come  to 
you  on  an  errand  of  mercy?  May  I  not  be  the  bearer  of 
a  message  of  salvation?  Why,  I'm  almost  a  member  of 
your  family — your  daughter,  sister!" 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Marjorie ;  no  Gildersleeve  will  ever  be 
my  daughter." 

"Or  my  sister!" 

Rendered  desperate,  Marjorie  bowed  her  head  and  wept, 
her  hair  laughing  with  golden  ringlets  that  refused  to  be 
confined,  while  her  alabaster  flesh  glowed  like  a  Grecian 
vase  of  sculptured  marble. 

"God  help  me,"  her  voice  trembling  with  fear  and  sor 
row.  "You  must  at  least  hear  my  message.  A  neighbor 
rushed  into  our  house  only  a  moment  ago — a  few  minutes 
ago.  He  told  Papa  you  were  to  be  mobbed  at  8  o'clock. 
Out  of  love  for  you  I  forgot  everything  except  that  you 
were  in  deadly  peril.  I  flew  to  you  through  winter's  cold, 
without  coat  or  cloak  or  bonnet — only  this  shawl,  which 
belongs  to  a  servant,  and  which  I  seized  as  I  ran,  fearing 
you  might  be  taken  unaware  and  murdered  before  I  coulrl 
get  here.  Now,  I  can  do  no  more.  But  as  you  value  your 
lives,  however  much  you  may  hate  me — though  God  knows 
I  never  wronged  either  of  you — heed  my  warning  and " 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  331 

Her  voice  was  drowned  by  a  bedlam  without — shrieks, 
and  hisses,  and  stamping  of  feet. 

There  was  a  furious  pounding  on  the  door. 

"Who's  wanted?"  Dr.  Culpepper  inquired. 

"Yuh're  wanted,"  a  tempest  of  voices  replied.  "Yuh're 
wanted,  yo'  ol'  Coppehhaid,  Knoight  uh  thuh  Gol'n  ZurgF, 
doubl'doid  Raibul !  Come  on  out'n  hyar  foh  wuh  dreg  yuh 
out'n!" 

Softening  his  voice :  "All  right,  boys — wait  a  minute  and 
I'll  come.  I  know  you've  got  the  dead  wood  on  me  this 
time." 

Already  Vergie,  with  the  instinct  of  a  born  soldier,  had 
extinguished  the  lights,  shoved  Marjorie  unceremoniously 
into  a  corner  out  of  the  range  of  possible  bullets,  handed  her 
father  a  double-barreled  shotgun  and  a  brace  of  revolvers, 
and  found  for  herself  a  vicious-looking  weapon  that  had 
belonged  to  Harold.  The  Doctor  proudly  observed  Vergie's 
coolness,  and  that  neither  hand  nor  voice  trembled.  Thus 
armed,  and  the  mob  without  becoming  more  and  more  vehe 
ment,  the  Doctor  called: 

"Now,  boys,  tell  me  what  you're  going  to  do  with  me." 

"Wuh're  gwine  tuh  treat  yuh  tuh  uh  full  un  vahried  pro 
gram  uv  'musements,"  replied  the  spokesman.  "Fust,  wuh're 
gwine  tuh  gib  yuh  uh  thrushin' — thut's  fuh  thuh  waiy 
yuh've  treated  yuh're  boy,  Hor'ld.  Thun  wuh're  gwine  tuh 
gib  yuh  uh  foine  coht  uh  tah  'n'  futhuhs — thut's  tuh  evun 
up  ol'  Ams  Ahmuntrout's  'count.  'Membuh  w'en'  yuh 
whaled  uhway  un  nah'ly  knocked  'iz  daylights  out'n  wuth 
uh  bah  uv  ahrun  ?  Folluh'n  thiz  yuh're  tuh  huv  uh  free 
roide  on  uh  rail  tuh  th'  Pos'  Orfus  'n'  beck — un  'mum- 
brunce  o'  thuh  thoings  yo've  soid  V  done  'gin  ouh  sojer 
boys  'wun  thuh've  ben  hum  on  fuhloughs.  Thun  wuh'll 
close  thuh  'formunce  wuth  uh  gren  spucteklur  piece  'tituled 
'Yuh  Murruh  Hengin'  uh  Ol'  Doc  Culpaipuh' — 'n'  mum'ry 


332  AMERICANS  ALL 

uh  th'  brave  men  w'ot  fell  ut  Fred'rucksbu'gh  yist'day, 
whose  crule  daith,  ut  thuh  han's  o'  thu  dam'  Raibuls,  yo've 
ben  cel'braishunin'  ul'  th'  a'ternoon." 

There  was  more  "information,"  but  it  was  drowned  by 
the  shrieks  of  the  mob,  and  the  discharge  of  firearms.  As 
soon  as  the  spokesman  could  be  heard,  he  demanded,  "Ah 
yuh  ruddy  ?" 

"Ready!"  responded  the  Doctor.  "Just  step  inside,  gen 
tlemen,  and  I'll  treat  you  to  the  best  I've  got.  You  know 
the  Culpeppers  are  never  wanting  in  hospitality." 

"No;  yo'  come  on  out.  Wuh  doan'  wun'  tuh  huht  th' 
wummenfolks." 

"Don't  mind  me,  honorable  sirs."  It  was  the  voice  of 
Vergie  Culpepper,  loud,  clear,  defiant.  "Wherever  you 
may  find  my  father,  you'll  always  find  his  daughter." 

There  was  another  roar  from  the  maddened  mob  and  a 
renewed  pounding  at  the  door,  front,  sides  and  rear.  It 
was  evident  they  had  surrounded  the  house,  and  that  an 
assault  was  imminent. 

Once  more  above  the  tumult  came  the  voice  of  the  leader : 
"Doan'  put  us  tuh  th'  needces'ty  uv  tah'rn  down  yuh  house 
ovuh  yo'  haid.  Yuh've  gut  tuh  come,  yuh  doubl'doid,  hiss- 
in',  damn'  ol'  Coppehhaid.  Air  yo'  comin'?" 

"Yessir,  I*m  coming.  I'll  show  you  scoundrels  that  the 
Rebels  up  North  are  not  inferior  to  their  victorious  brothers 
yonder  on  the  glory-lit  field  of  Fredericksburg,"  and  with 
that  he  reached  for  the  bolt  that  fastened  the  door. 

But  Vergie,  with  woman's  instinct  of  preservation,  now 
flung  herself  between  her  father  and  the  door.  "No,  Father, 
you  shan't  go.  They'll  kill  you." 

"Get  out  of  my  way,  Daughter,"  the  Doctor  thundered. 
"No  Kentuckian  ever  showed  the  white  feather." 

There  came  another  volley  of  firearms,  followed  by  a 
crash  of  broken  and  falling  glass. 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  333 

A  negro  servant  came  rushing  in.  "Fo'  de  Lawd,  Massa, 
deyse  dun  sot  de  smoke  house  on  fiah,  un  de  poultruh  house, 
un  dey  bull'  up  de  bonfiah  'fresh,  un  urn  heatin'  uh  big 
kit'l  uh  tah." 

Another  Senegambian  came  rushing  in.  "O  Massa, 
dey'se  broke  in  de  kitch'n  doah,  un  dey'se  poundin'  ut  de 
back  doah.  Dey  sho  muhda  us'n.  Heah  um!  Massa,  dey 
sho  am  uh-comin'." 

"Bar  that  door  there,  you  black  niggers !"  roared  the 
Doctor.  "And  take  care  of  your  missus,  and — anybody  else 
that  may  be  in  this  room.  Do  you  hear  me?" 

Now  there  was  a  storm  of  threats  from  without,  and 
another  murderous  volley. 

"Air  yo'  comin',  yo'  black-heahted  cowahd?  Wuh're  nut 
gwine  tuh  wait  hyar  un'  longeh.  Shull  wuh  huv  tuh  tah 
deown  thus  hyar  house  'n'  dreg  yuh  out'n,  yo'  Jaiff  Davus 
wuhshuppuh  ?" 

"Damn  you,  yes,  I'm  coming;  take  care  of  yourselves." 
The  lion-hearted  Doctor  flung  Vergie  aside,  unbarred  the 
door,  and  stepped  out,  gun  cocked  and  ready  for  action. 

"Here  I  am,  gentleman/'  with  mock  courtesy.  "Now, 
what  are  you  going  to  do?  But  I  give  you  fair  warning 
that  'good  old  Betsey' " — patting  the  barrel  of  his  gun — 
"is  loaded  to  the  muzzle  with  buckshot,  and  the  first  G — 

d skunk  that  lays  hands  on  me  will  report  in  hell  the 

next  instant." 

For  a  moment  the  mob  was  awed;  but  the  next  instant 
the  rioters  that  had  gained  access  from  the  rear  bore  him 
down. 

There  was  a  fierce,  brief  struggle ;  but  it  was  soon  over. 
It  was  a  score,  fifty,  a  hundred  to  one.  In  less  than  a 
minute  the  Doctor  was  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  helpless 
before  his  enemies.  Others  with  difficulty  were  restraining 


334  AMEKICANS  ALD 

the  daughter,  who  now  was  demonstrating  the  fitness  of 
her  girlhood  title — "The  Tigress." 

"Wot  shull  wuh  do  wuth  thuh  durn'd  ol'  g'loot,  neow?" 
The  question  seemed  to  be  general. 

"Heah's  thuh  hick'ry  lashus,"  a  man  shouted,  rushing 
forward  with  an  armful  of  hickory  sprouts,  each  from  five 
to  seven  feet  long,  and  at  the  base  thick  as  a  man's  thumb. 

Another :  "Un  heah's  thuh  futhers,"  exhibiting  a  pillow 
case  filled  with  feathers.  "Ah  raickun  thuh  tah's  good  V 
hot." 

There  was  a  wild  roar  of  approval,  and  a  hoarse,  guffaw 
ing  laugh  that  was  not  good  to  hear. 

"Yus,  V  heah's  thuh  rope,"  shouted  a  third,  coming  for 
ward.  "Mught'  good  haimp.  Ol'  Ab  Wulcoxus  baist!" 

The  Doctor,  eyes  gleaming  with  immeasurable  contempt 
and  defiance,  attempted  to  say  something,  but  was  dealt  a 
cruel  blow  in  the  face,  and  the  blood  gushed  in  a  stream 
from  his  mouth  and  nose.  "Shet  aip,  yo'  ol'  Raibul.  Come 
now  'n'  taik  yo'  med'cine." 

Unable  to  walk,  as  his  feet  as  well  as  his  hands  were  tied, 
they  dragged  him,  brutally — for  mobs  are  never  gentle — 
across  the  yard,  and  quickly  lashed  him  to  a  tree.  The 
hickory  sprouts  were  flung  down  at  his  feet. 

"Who  wunts  tuh  op'n  thuh  ball?"  the  leader  inquired. 

"Ah  do !"  "Ah  do !"   "Ah  do !"  a  score  responded. 

"Ol'  roight,"  responded  the  affable  and  accommodating 
arbiter  elegantiarnm.  "Ab  Petuhsun,  yo'  muh  teeckl'  'm  up 
uh  leetl'  uz  uh  stahtuh." 

The  more  than  willing  Peterson,  whose  only  son  had  been 
killed  in  the  Union  army  at  Shiloh,  eagerly  seized  a  huge 
hickory  sprout,  and  was  about  to  apply  it  with  a  will,  when 
there  was  a  sudden  diversion,  and,  as  if  apparitions  from 
another  world,  the  young  lawyer,  Judge  Gildersleeve,  Ams- 
den  Armentrout,  Hiram  Goldbeck,  Abner  Wilcox,  and  sev- 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  335 

eral  others,  suddenly  approached  and  formed  a  circle  about 
the  tree  between  the  Doctor  and  his  persecutors. 

It  all  came  about  on  this  wise : 

During  the  uproar  in  the  house,  Marjorie,  spurned  and 
flung  aside  by  the  Doctor  and  Vergie,  had  contrived  to  make 
her  escape  through  the  basement,  evade  the  roaring  mob, 
and  rush  back  to  town  to  hasten  the  rescuers.  Of  course 
she  was  very  much  shaken,  as  any  girl  would  have  been 
under  like  circumstances. 

"Oh,  if  Sammy  were  only  here!"  In  her  terror  and 
excitement,  Marjorie,  as  she  sped  along,  didn't  know  she 
was  talking  aloud,  or  talking  at  all.  "Dear,  dear  Sammy, 
why  won't  he  understand?  If  he  were  only  here  he'd  know 
what  to  do.  Why  can't  he  see  that  I  love  him  ?  And  after 
to-night,  after  what  Harold's  father  and  sister  said  and  did, 
I  cannot,  cannot,  will  never  marry  Harold.  But  Sammy, 
why — why  doesn't  he  corner  me,  and  just  make  me  tell?" 

Had  Marjorie  known  that  "Sammy,"  who,  not  an  hour 
before,  had  returned  from  Eutopolis,  and,  out  of  breath 
from  running  toward  the  scene  of  destruction,  not  know 
ing  the  occasion  of  it,  had,  for  a  moment,  halted  by  the 
roadside  and  overheard  some  of  the  astonishing  things  she 
had  said  as  she  was  passing  him  in  the  darkness,  she  would 
have  been  greatly  mortified.  But  a  moment  later  she  was 
frightened  by  some  one  from  behind  suddenly  laying  hands 
on  her. 

'  Tis  /,  Marjorie  dear!"  the  Some  One  quickly  said. 
"Are  you  angry  with  me  for — for,"  drawing  her  to  him, 
and  reverently  planting  a  kiss  on  her  forehead,  "for — this?" 

"O  Sammy !"  instantly  recognizing  him,  "not  there,  but — 
here!"  she  shyly  replied,  drawing  his  head  down  and  offering 
him  her  lips.  "But,  O  Sammy — how  did  you  ever  guess  you 
might?" 

"Sweetheart,"  he  solemnly  replied,  "it  was  a  terrible  risk 


336  AMERICANS  ALL 

I  took."  [Good  St.  Peter,  please  forgive  all  the  little  fibs  that 
lovers  tell  each  other !  They  don't  mean  any  harm  by  them, 
really  they  don't,  and  they  help  a  whole  lot.]  "But,  oh, 
I've  so  wanted  to  tell  you  this" — a  kiss — "and  to  do  this" 
— another  great,  long  kiss — "ever  since — ever " 

"Oh,  you  naughty,  naughty  boy !  How  can  I  ever  forgive 
you?  But — so  have  I,  too!  Hold  lower,  Sammy,  you 
wicked,  wicked  man,  and — and — give  me  another — kiss!" 

"And  say,  Sammy,"  very  softly  now,  for,  for  some  myste 
rious  reason,  she  could  scarcely  breathe,  "did  you  never, 
never  love  any  other  girl  like  this  ?" 

"Never,  Marjorie,  dear,  like  this,  or  as  I  love  you!" 

How  long  all  this  billing  and  cooing  might  have  lasted, 
the  Heavenly  Father,  who  has  all  lovers  under  his  special 
protection,  only  knows.  For  what's  the  sacking  of  a  city, 
or  the  sieging  of  a  stronghold,  or  the  slaughter  of  an  army, 
or  any  little  thing  like  that,  compared  with  the  embrace  and 
kiss  of  the  one  whom  you  adore? 

But  just  at  this  juncture  there  came  through  the  cold, 
crisp  air  of  the  December  night  the  sound  of  hurried  foot 
steps,  and  the  next  moment  a  silvery  voice  was  saying: 

"O  Papa,  Papa!  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come!  Mr. 
Simonson  and  I  were  just  hurrying  to  get  you." 

But  from  sentiment,  with  all  its  thrills  and  ardors,  the 
young  lawyer  and  Marjorie  were  immediately  rushed  into 
the  vortex  of  tragedy. 

"Wot  V  th'  hell  d'  yuh-uns  mean  b'  intuhfeahun'  wuth 
ouh  li'l  suhpriz  pahty  ?"  shouted  the  indignant  leader  of  the 
mob.  "Wuh're  jis'  uxchangin'  uh  few  plusuntrus  wuth  ol' 
Doc — sohtuh  roun'n'  out  hiz  sail-brashun,  brungin'  ut  tuh 
uh  propuh  'elusion,  suh  t'  speak.  G'  on,  Ab.  Thrush  hell 
out'n  'im !" 

"Haud  on,"  shouted  the  blacksmith,  stepping  forward 
and  raising  his  huge  hairy  hand  and  arm.  "Ah  raickun  gin 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  337 

onybody's  gat  th'  richt  tae  hae  it  in  fuh  this  auld  raibul, 
it's  meh.  Frae  th'  farst,  ez  ye  ken,  Ah've  'scused  'im,  'n' 
'pol'gized  fuh  'im,  'n'  laiged  fuh  'im.  Twa  toimes,  ye  rai- 
mumbuh,  Ah  facit  mobs  'at  'ad  horns — soom  o'  ye  wah 
thah  baith  toimes — un  shieldud  'im  frae  deith  un  damnation. 
Mair'n  aines  Ah've  heided  yo'  fellers  orf,  an'  savit  this 
'fernal  Coppehheid  frae  th'  lynchin'  Ah  dinna  saiy  'e  didna 
d'sarve.  Mair'n  ane  nicht  Ah've  gyarded  this  heah  hoose, 
intae  w'ich  Ah  nuvuh  sot  foot,  fuh  feah  soom  o'  oor  Unyun 
fouk  mout  burn  't  doon — 'spashully  a'ter  it  wes  foon  oot  'e 
wes  uh  bell-wether  'mang  thae  Hell's  Annex  Knoights  o' 
thae  Gol'en  Zurgle,  An'  w'at  thenks  dud  Ah  evuh  git? 
Unly  this !" 

Old  Amsden  took  off  his  hat  and  showed  a  dent  in  the 
side  of  his  head — a  scar  hideous  and  ghastly,  and  all  the 
more  horrible  because  the  hair  refused  to  grow  over  it. 

"T'  hell  wuth  'im !  No  mattuh  'bout  th'  whuppun  'n'  th' 
tah  'n'  futhuhs.  Brung  on  th'  rope !"  The  mob  was  grow 
ing  impatient.  In  a  rough,  blundering  way,  everybody  liked 
old  Amsden,  and  resented  the  injury  he  had  suffered  at  the 
hand  of  Dr.  Culpepper. 

"Noo,  men — haud  on !  Gin  ye  loike  meh,  un  Ah  guess  ye 
dae ;  un  gin  ye'd  loike  t'  please  meh,  un  Ah  raickun " 

"Yuh're  all  right,  ol'  Ams,  yo'  ol'  sunuvagun !"  yelled  the 
mob.  "Bull-haided  uz  hell,  corntrahr'r  thun  thuh  daivul, 
bud  true  uz  steel,  by  gum !  Bud  straitch  up  th'  ol'  Secaish, 
'n'  lait's  see  'im  wriggle!  Fotch  on  thuh  rope." 

"Please,  boys,  fuh  ma  saik,  dinna!  Gin  Ah  kin  lat  bye- 
ganes  be  bye-ganes,  sholy  yo'  fellers  kin.  Loose  'im,  un 
lat  'im  an'  'iz  gal  gang  in  thae  hoose!  W'at  'n  th'  heU're 
wuh  daein*  heah  ut  Thae  Elms,  onywy?  We  dae  no  b'lang 
heah,  fellers.  Lat's  a'  gang  hame!" 

"Nud  boi  uh  damn'  soight,"  replied  the  leader.  "Gut  tuh 
'ten'  t'  some  onfinished  biznis  'foh  thuz  meetun*  kin  'journ." 


338  AMERICANS  ALL 

Judge  Gildersleeve,  Hiram  Goldbeck,  and  Abner  Wilcox, 
each  in  turn,  tried  to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters,  but 
only  tired  the  patience  of  the  mob,  and  thus  rendered  it  all 
the  more  dangerous. 

At  last  Judge  Gildersleeve,  in  a  low  voice,  said :  "Sammy, 
for  God's  sake,  say  something!  Maybe  you  can  save  the 
day." 

The  young  lawyer  stepped  forward.  Marjorie  was  stand 
ing  beside  her  father.  All  of  earth,  seemingly,  had  faded 
from  her  face — only  the  spiritual  was  left,  and  that  was 
intensified  by  her  transparent  complexion.  Her  golden  hair, 
many  riotous  ringlets  at  the  mercy  of  the  amorous  night- 
winds,  enhanced  the  glory  of  her  countenance,  and  gave  to 
her  eyes  something  of  the  mystic  spell  Raphael  and  Titian 
have  immortalized  on  wall  and  canvas.  Her  breast  rose 
and  fell  with  a  rhythm  that  seemed  to  tell  of  a  strange  new 
music  to  which  it  was  yet  unaccustomed,  but  was  infinitely 
satisfying.  Only  once  did  her  eyes  seek  the  eyes  of  the 
young  lawyer,  but  in  that  momentary  glance  he  caught  a 
glimpse — heard  the  melody  of  Celestial  Chimes,  joy  bells 
— unsensual  indeed,  though  there  was  not  lacking  passion 
ate  warmth  and  yearning,  yet  preeminently  and  supernally 
spiritual ;  and  the  young  lawyer  thought  how  sweetly  radi 
ant  she  was,  recalling  Schiller's  famous  saying,  "Love  can 
sun  the  realms  of  Light." 

Vergie,  dark,  motionless,  statuesque,  restrained  and  pro 
tected  by  two  men,  was  standing  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
trees,  apparently  dazed  by  the  scene:  the  leaping  flames; 
the  heavy,  black  smoke  rolling  turgidly  from  the  kettle  of 
boiling  tar ;  the  howling  mob ;  the  grave  men  pleading  with 
the  mob;  the  man,  her  own  father,  lashed  to  a  tree ;  a  man, 
who  might  be  her  father's  executioner,  standing  close  by 
with  a  cruel  weapon  in  his  hand ;  another  with  a  rope ;  the 
wild  scream  of  a  pair  of  red-shouldered  hawks  that  were 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  339 

nesting  in  the  top  of  a  giant  elm ;  the  cold  gleam  of  distant 
stars;  the  biting,  piercing  night-wind.  For  the  moment 
Simonson,  catching  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  her  dark  face  and 
flashing  eyes,  thought  of  her  Indian  forebears,  Razometah 
and  Zohanozoheton,  and  wondered  if  she  did  not  feel  some 
thing  of  their  wild  spirit,  and  in  her  veins  the  fierce  stirring 
of  their  blood. 

The  young  lawyer  had  not  vainly  looked  into  Lincoln's 
face,  or  studied  diplomacy  under  his  tutorship  unsuccess 
fully.  Though  it  was  known  he  was  uncompromisingly  for 
the  Union,  most  of  the  Southerners  respected  him;  and 
while  he  maintained  cordial  social  relations  with  such  out 
spoken  Southerners  as  the  Grants  and  Leverings,  the  Union 
people,  Republicans  and  War-Democrats  alike,  esteemed 
him  highly.  Hence,  when  he  stepped  forward  to  speak  he 
was  accorded  respectful  attention. 

He  first  dwelt  on  the  Anglo-Saxon  love  of  law  and  order, 
as  opposed  to  lawlessness  and  anarchy ;  and  then  in  a  few 
brief  but  striking  sentences  portrayed  the  high  sense  of  jus 
tice  and  equality  of  this  great,  liberty-loving,  all-conquering 
people. 

Then  he  passed  on  to  show  that  we  are  Anglo-Saxon 
Americans.  If  there  be  any  striking  difference,  from  the 
standpoint  of  law  and  order,  between  Northern  and  South 
ern  Anglo-Saxons,  it  is  that  we  of  the  North  especially 
pride  ourselves,  and  perhaps  justly,  on  our  ability  to  govern 
our  passions  in  times  of  excitement  and  tumult  and,  in  an 
orderly  manner,  submit  our  grievances  to  the  great  tribunal 
of  the  law,  with  its  just  and  orderly  processes. 

It  was  evident  he  was  making  headway,  though  some 
were  again  clamoring  to  go  on  with  the  "onfunush'd  biznis." 

Next  he  touched  on  the  Christian  aspect  of  the  case,  hap 
pily  stating  the  teachings  of  the  New  Testament,  and,  in 
glowing  terms,  portraying  the  example  set  by  Jesus. 


340  AMEBICANS  ALL 

Most  of  the  rioters  were  church  members;  and  despite 
the  fact  that  for  a  season  passion  had  led  them  astray,  were 
devoutly  religious.  Knowing  that  the  young  lawyer  was 
not  a  member  of  any  church,  his  appeal  to  the  teachings 
and  example  of  the  Saviour  was  peculiarly  pleasing  and 
impressive. 

In  conclusion,  he  took  up  the  domestic  situation  in  the 
Culpepper  household.  Whatever,  and  however  justified, 
might  be  their  wrath  against  Dr.  Culpepper,  as  good  men 
they  must  remember  that  the  Doctor's  only  son,  Harold 
Culpepper,  was  a  brave  and  gallant  Union  soldier.  Would 
they,  as  patriotic  men,  make  war  on  the  parents  of  Union 
soldiers ;  and  that,  too,  in  the  name,  and  in  behalf,  of  the 
Union?  To  him  it  was  a  thing  not  only  incredible,  but 
almost  unthinkable. 

For  obvious  reasons,  however,  he  pressed  rapidly  on ;  he 
wished  only  to  deftly  touch  their  emotions  without  giving 
them  time  to  think.  Given  time  to  reflect  on  the  Doctor's 
attitude  toward  his  soldier  son,  and  because  he  was  a  Union 
soldier,  their  fury  would  become  uncontrollable. 

Next  he  spoke  of  die  afflicted  wife,  and  what  a  blow  to 
her  would  be  such  a  tragedy  as  that  which  they  were  con 
templating.  Had  the  Union  and  its  defenders  sunk  so 
low  as  to  make  war  on  afflicted  and  suffering,  perhaps 
dying,  mothers — the  mothers  of  Union  soldiers?  If  so, 
then  the  Union  was  a  cause,  and  its  defenders  were  a  people, 
which  and  whom  the  whole  world  would  and  should  repudi 
ate  and  denounce. 

Finally,  with  exceeding  delicacy,  he  mentioned  the  Doc 
tor's  daughter,  Miss  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper,  and  how  they 
had  already  sinned  against  her,  a — woman!  How  inefface- 
ably  must  this  brutal  .scene,  and  the  monstrous  epithets  and 
blasphemies  to  which  her  ears  had  been  compelled  to  give 
audience,  be  fixed  in  her  memory!  How  her  inmost  soul 


THE  MOB  AT  THE  ELMS  341 

must  revolt  against  such  a  hideously  misrepresented  Union, 
and  those  who  had  heaped  upon  her  and  her  father,  and 
indirectly  upon  her  brave  soldier  brother,  such  odious,  such 
fiendish,  such  well  nigh  unendurable  indignities! 

The  victory  was  won,  and  the  mob  was  melting  away  in 
the  friendly  shadow  of  the  trees,  when  every  one  was 
startled  by  the  sharp  report  of  a  revolver.  The  first  thought 
was  that  some  infuriated  man,  unwilling  that  Dr.  Culpep- 
per  should  escape  what  he  deemed  to  be  his  just  deserts, 
had  sent  a  bullet  crashing  through  the  Doctor's  heart ;  but, 
turning  back,  they  saw  the  young  lawyer  reeling  to  the 
earth,  and  Rod  Clarke  standing  over  him  with  a  yet  smoking 
revolver  in  his  hand. 

In  an  instant  Dr.  Threadkill,  who  chanced  to  be  standing 
near,  had  torn  open  the  young  lawyer's  vest  and  shirt  and 
looked  for  the  wound.  In  the  uncertain  light  it  seemed  that 
the  bullet  had  pierced  the  heart.  The  Doctor  arose  and, 
facing  the  awe-stricken  crowd,  said :  "Our  brave  young 
friend  has  ended  his  high  and  noble  career  at  the  hand  of  a 
villain.  Samuel  Simonson  is  shot  through  the  heart  and  is 
dying." 

Marjorie  glided  past  the  physician  and  knelt  by  the 
young  lawyer's  side,  gathering  up  his  pulseless  hands,  and 
raining  a  flood  of  tears  on  his  face.  The  next  instant  there 
was  a  wild  scream,  such  as  the  Princess  Zohanozoheton 
might  have  uttered  in  the  dark  fastnesses  of  the  Southern 
mountains,  a*id  in  a  moment  Vergie,  too,  was  kneeling 
beside  Simonson's  prostrate  form. 

"Get  away  from  here,  Baby  Face !"  she  screamed.  "He's 
mine,  I  tell  you !  He's  mine !  You  shan't  have  him !" 

"Vergie,"  replied  Marjorie,  with  a  voice  of  nameless  sor 
row,  each  word  falling  from  her  lips  with  the  dewy  tender 
ness  and  anguish  of  a  tear,  "Mr.  Simonson  is  dying.  Please 


342  AMERICANS  ALL. 

let  him  pass  away  in  peace.    If  we  have  loved  him  it  is  well 

— he  was  worthy.    Were  he  to  live " 

Something  about  the  young  lawyer's  countenance  arrested 
their  attention  and,  with  one  accord,  both  bowed  over  his 
face.  Slowly  he  opened  his  eyes,  looked  for  a  moment,  as  if 
dazed,  first  into  the  face  of  one,  then  into  the  face  of  the 
other;  and  then,  consciousness  seemingly  having  returned, 
he  smiled  up  into  Marjorie's  face,  lifted  his  arm  as  though 
he  wanted  to  place  it  abo.ut  her  neck,  and,  as  a  perfectly 
happy  child  going  to  sleep,  softly  murmured,  "Marjorie!" 
and  then — knew  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES — DEATH  OF  CHARLOTTE 
CULPEPPER 

'rTNHE  young  lawyer  was  battling  for  his  life. 
J-  It  was  no  fault  of  Dr.  Culpepper's  that  he  was  not 
taken  to  The  Elms.  Kentucky  gentleman  that  he  was,  the 
moment  he  was  released  he  had  hastened  to  the  young  law 
yer's  side,  with  Dr.  Threadkill  examined  the  wound,  con 
curred  in  the  opinion  that  the  victim  had  only  a  fighting 
chance  for  his  life,  and  magnanimously  proffered  the  best 
of  everything  The  Elms  afforded.  But  Judge  Gildersleeve 
had  feelingly  replied : 

"No ;  Sammy  is  almost  as  dear  to  us  as  our  own  son.  I 
was  the  first  one  whom  he  honored  with  his  friendship  when 
he  came  to  New  Richmond;  he  is  my  office  mate;  I'm 
familiar  with  his  business ;  Elizabeth  will  care  for  him  as 
though  she  were  his  mother;  we  must  have  him  at  The 
Maples." 

Marjorie  said  nothing,  though  it  is  not  difficult  to  sur 
mise  her  thoughts  and  emotions. 

Vergie,  stunned  by  the  young  lawyer's  strange  actions, 
stood  apart  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees;  and  as  it 
slowly  dawned  on  her  that  she  had  been  rejected — put  to 
shame  before  the  mob — her  hatred  of  him  leaped  to  un 
wonted  bounds,  in  keeping  with  her  nature ;  and  when  she 
had  further  realized  that  she  had  been  supplanted,  that 
another  had  taken  her  place,  and  of  all  persons,  a  Gilder- 
sleeve  —  Marjorie  Gildersleeve  —  Harold's  Marjorie — her 

343 


344  AMERICANS  ALL 

secret  rage  became  consuming.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her 
eyes  flashed,  and  her  finger-nails  were  buried  in  the  flesh 
of  her  palms,  though  she  was  not  conscious  of  any  pain. 

Half  hid  in  the  sombre  gloom  of  giant  primeval  trees ; 
tall,  sinewy,  graceful  as  Diana ;  darkly  beautiful ;  eyes 
supernaturally  large ;  breast  torn  bare  by  ruffians,  but  un 
mindful  of  icy  December  air ;  deaf  to  the  mystic,  dirge-like 
music  of  aeolian  harps  formed  by  leafless,  interlacing 
boughs  high  above  her  head ;  regardless  of  the  dead,  or 
surely  dying,  man  only  a  few  feet  distant,  she  was  the 
dramatic  impersonation  of  the  high-souled  Indian  Princess, 
wounded  unto  death,  yet  refusing  to  die — or  the  tigress, 
all  softness  gone,  only  waiting  opportunity  to  wreak  ade 
quate  vengeance. 

The  wound  would  not  have  been  so  serious,  or  the  patient 
so  long  prostrated,  but  for  certain  serious  complications  that 
developed  on  the  third  day.  Even  the  layman  could  see 
that  fever  had  set  in  and  was  running  high ;  that  he  was 
delirious;  that  often  he  was  in  a  state  resembling  coma; 
and  that  a  fatal  termination  was  to  be  expected. 

Happily  for  the  patient's  peace  of  mind,  everything  re 
mained  a  blank  many  days ;  and  even  after  the  tide  turned 
and  recovery  had  become  assured,  his  mind,  in  keeping 
with  his  feeble  and  emaciated  body,  took  but  little  cog 
nizance  of  events,  and  attributed  no  significance  whatever 
to  them.  It  was  feared  that  when  his  condition  became 
normal,  save  strength,  his  desire  to  learn  the  trend  of  events 
might  unduly  excite  him ;  or  that  he  might  insist  on  return 
ing  too  soon  to  his  work ;  but  all  their  fears  were  ground 
less.  The  past  had  become  to  him,  apparently,  a  tempus 
incognitas;  and  consequently,  as  newspapers  were  excluded 
from  the  room,  and  all  exciting  topics  of  conversation 
were  prohibited,  his  days  at  The  Maples  were  tranquil  and 
uneventful. 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  345 

Outside  the  sick-room,  however,  there  were  not  lacking 
subjects  of  absorbing  interest.  Halleck  now  was  at  war 
with  both  Grant  and  Buell;  the  mystery  surrounding  Gen 
eral  Stoneman's  case,  yet  unsolved,  by  the  way,  was  excit 
ing  widespread  comment,  and  some  acrimonious  discussion ; 
both  Lincoln  and  Davis  were  ardent  suitors  for  Kentucky's 
and  Missouri's  favor,  with  about  equal  chances  for  success; 
Chase  and  Seward  were  known  to  be  at  outs  with  the  Presi 
dent,  and  shortly  after  offered  their  resignations;  England, 
under  the  leadership  of  the  Crown,  and  Prime  Minister, 
Sir  John  Russell,  was  giving  the  Confederacy  valuable  phil- 
openas,  while  France  was  offering  her  friendly  offices  to  the 
"two  governments";  Congress,  to  the  embarrassment  of 
Mr.  Lincoln,  was  pressing  universal  and  unconditional 
emancipation  measures ;  the  battle  of  Stone  River,  the  ad 
mission  to  the  Union  of  West  Virginia  on  manifestly  legal 
fictions — one  of  those  many  cases  which  are  legally  wrong 
but  morally  right,  which  might  be  averred  of  the  whole 
course  pursued  by  the  North  during  the  war — these  are 
only  a  few  of  the  matters,  exciting  enough  without,  but 
which  never  reached  the  chamber  where  the  pale  sufferer 
was  in  constant  conference  with  Charon  beside  the  Styx. 

Even  the  passage  of  the  Draft  Act,  on  the  Third  of  March, 
which  so  enraged  the  anti-bellumites,  and  later  on  precipi 
tated  furious  riots,  especially  in  New  York  City  on  the  Thir 
teenth  of  July,  seemed  to  awaken  in  the  young  lawyer  only 
an  academic  interest. 

As  late  as  the  Fifth  of  May  it  was  not  deemed  prudent  to 
mention  in  his  presence  the  disastrous  battle  of  Chancellors- 
ville,  though  the  frightful  losses  sustained  by  the  North 
were  more  than  offset,  from  a  military  standpoint,  by  the 
Confederacy's  incomparable  loss  of  Stonewall  Jackson,  acci 
dentally  killed  by  his  own  men. 

Of  the  young  lawyer's  affaires  du  coeur  nothing  was 


346  AMERICANS  ALL 

known,  save  by  the  parties  concerned;  hence  nothing  was 
said.  Dr.  Culpepper  had  not  witnessed  the  brief  pantomime 
at  The  Elms  when  it  was  thought  the  young  lawyer  was 
dying;  and  though  Judge  Gildersleeve  had  seen  it  all,  he 
had  attributed  Marjorie's  emotion,  and  the  young  lawyer's 
preference  for  her,  to  a  very  natural  brotherly  and  sisterly 
regard  for  each  other. 

Both  girls  were  mystified,  each  being  ignorant  of  the 
young  lawyer's  relation  to  the  other.  If  Marjorie  was 
more  lenient  in  her  judgment,  leaning  to  the  opinion  that 
Vergie's  love  had  been  unsought  and,  therefore,  her  pas 
sionate  outburst  at  the  last  had  been  both  unmaidenly  and 
unjustifiable,  it  probably  was  because  she  was  of  a  gentler 
nature,  and  because  the  young  lawyer,  in  what  had  seemed 
to  be  the  supreme  moment  of  his  life,  when  all  empty  gal 
lantries  and  misleading  courtesies  are  abjured,  had  thought 
of  her  only,  and  had  pathetically  expressed  his  delight  in  her 
presence,  and  longing  for  her  love. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  Marjorie  had  her 
unhappy  moments.  Of  her  love  for  Simonson  she  never 
had  an  instant's  doubt — that  much  was  certain;  that  she 
must  always  love  him,  come  weal,  come  woe,  she  was  as 
certain  as  she  was  of  her  very  existence;  that  he  was  the 
manliest  of  men,  the  gentlest,  bravest,  strongest,  truest,  her 
father  had  declared,  and  she  had  always  believed  in  the 
infallibility  of  her  father — but  in  this  instance  her  father's 
judgment  was  felt  to  be  especially  unerring  because  it  so 
perfectly  coincided  with  the  verdict  of  her  own  heart  and 
intellect. 

"And  yet — Vergie !  Why  had  Vergie  done  what  she  did, 
and  said  what  she  had  said?" 

Very  naturally  this  inquiry  led  to  reminiscence  and  self- 
examination.  She  confessed  to  herself  that,  after  all,  the 
young  lawyer  was  scarcely  more  than  a  passing  acquaint- 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  347 

ance.  That,  however,  had  been  her  fault,  not  his.  She 
had  needlessly  flaunted  in  his  face  her  engagement  to  Harold 
Culpepper — what  wonder  he  had  avoided  her?  As  an  hon 
orable  gentleman,  he  could  have  pursued  no  other  course. 
And  yet — and  the  memory  of  it  brought  a  great  thrill  of 
joy  to  her  heart — though  his  lips  had  been  sealed,  his  eyes 
had  always  been  all-eloquent  of  love  for  her;  nor  ever 
from  that  first  night  had  she  doubted,  for  a  single  moment, 
his  love  for  her — and  she  knew  that  from  their  first  meet 
ing  she  had  loved  him  with  all  her  heart. 

A  wistful  look  came  into  her  face  as  she  recalled  a  cer 
tain  morning  at  his  and  her  father's  office  when,  every 
body  being  at  court,  he  had  so  pathetically,  yet  manfully, 
pleaded  for  her  love;  and  her  answer  had  been — Harold 
Culpepper,  As  though  she  had  ever  cared  for  the  "Young 
Lord  of  The  Elms,"  or  that  her  engagement  to  Harold  had 
ever  been  more  than  a  thoughtless  "Yes,"  laughingly  given 
by  a  young  girl  not  yet  emancipated  from  "pig-tails"  and 
short  skirts! 

"Oh,  if  I  had  only  brought,  in  a  womanly  way,  my  heart- 
unsanctioned  engagement  to  Harold  to  an  honorable  termi 
nation,  and  had  answered  Sammy  as  my  heart  that  day 
prompted  me  to  do,  how  much  happiness  we  might  have 
had!"  Then  her  mind,  maiden-like,  followed  the  mystic 
trail  that  leads  on  and  on  through  flower-scented  groves 
and  gardens,  and  delicious  tete-a-tetes,  and  crowded  cathe 
dral,  and  dainty  gowns  and  orange  blossoms,  and  proces 
sion  to  the  rhythm  of  chiming  bells,  and  wedding  march, 
and  whispered  chorus  from  vested  choir,  and  sweetest  yet 
most  solemn  questions  and  rapturous  answers,  and  festal 
dinner,  followed  by  a  long,  long  journey,  and — 

"But  Vergie— oh,  yes " 

Marjorie  was  not  a  vain  girl ;  on  the  other  hand,  she 
was  rather  given  to  self-depreciation.  But  now  she  was 


348  AMERICANS  ALL 

heart-driven  to  institute  a  comparison  between  herself  and 
the  woman  who  had  suddenly  cast  a  shadow  across  her  hap 
piness — as  it  were,  take  an  invoice  of  her  own  charms,  and 
also  of  those  of  the  other  woman  in  the  case. 

At  the  very  outset  she  had  to  confess  that  Vergie  Culpep- 
per  was  a  very  beautiful  and  a  very  accomplished  woman. 
To  Marjorie,  Vergie's  charms  were  accentuated  by  the  fact 
that  they  two  represented  marked  types  of  beauty,  and  were 
opposites  in  all  save  queenly  height  and  perfect  form. 

But  Vergie,  with  all  her  wonderful  beauty  and  delicacy 
and  refinement,  was  of  the  type  that  might  be  denominated 
vital,  strenuous,  military;  such  as  Gothic  chieftain  or 
Roman  warrior-emperor  might  have  fiercely  loved,  and 
made  a  whole  world  desolate  to  win.  Exquisitely  feminine, 
she  was  not  feminile ;  rather  was  she  intensely  virile.  Her 
brilliant  ebon  hair,  deep  contralto  voice,  glowing  eyes 
blacker  than  a  raven's  wing  at  midnight,  and  rich,  volup 
tuous  complexion,  did  not  belie  her  nature  or  her  passion. 
She  loved  the  woods,  the  untamed  horse,  the  blood-tingling 
adventure,  the  wild  call  of  the  trumpet,  the  strident  poetry 
of  Greek  and  Roman  bards  and  dramatists.  That  Vergie 
could  ever  be  subdued  and  become  submissive,  yield  herself 
to  the  holy  lures  of  wifehood  and  motherhood,  become 
homemaker  and  haven  of  refuge  to  the  man  a-weary,  or 
suffering  from  sore  defeat,  seemed  to  Marjorie  impossible. 
And  yet  what  love  and  passion  in  a  man  might  such  a 
woman  as  Vergie  Culpepper  awaken  and  kindle  to  madness : 
so  tall,  so  graceful,  so  finely  formed  and  chiseled,  so  wildly 
and  magnificently  beautiful ! 

Once  Marjorie  thought  she  would  look  at  herself  in  the 
mirror,  but  finally  concluded  she  would  rather  remember 
how  she  had  looked  the  last  time  she  had  seen  herself  mir 
rored  in  the  young  lawyer's  eyes ;  in  his  eyes  she  knew  she 
was  surpassingly  beautiful,  altogether  lovely,  and  supremely 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  349 

to  be  desiredy  and  for  a  time  this  thought  made  her  very 
happy. 

"Yes,  but— Vergier 

Finally  Marjorie  wished  she  could  stop  thinking  about 
the— the  "Tigress." 

What  if  the  young  lawyer  had  been  interested  in  Vergie, 
had  he  not  first  given  his  heart  to  her,  Marjorie?  That, 
certainly,  was  some  consolation.  And  the  young  lawyer 
had  noticed  the  Tigress  only  after  she,  Marjorie,  had  turned 
him  away  with  that  sternest  of  all  prohibitions:  You  must 
not  speak  of  love,  or  look  at  me,  or  touch  me,  or  think  of 
me,  because  I  belong  to  another. 

Furthermore,  if  it  were  really  true  that,  in  some  way,  the 
young  lawyer  had  taken  notice  of  the  wild  Princess  of  Elm 
Hall  it  had  been  because  Her  Indian  Ladyship  herself  had 
taken  the  initiative — actually  had  gone  out  of  her  way  to 
attract  his  attention ;  and,  in  this  surmise,  we  know  she 
was  not  far  wrong,  or  wrong  at  all. 

But — and  here  Marjorie  paused  a  long  time,  examining 
the  skillfully  woven  warp  and  woof  of  a  dainty  skirt  she 
was  hemming — admitting  to  be  true  that  which  Vergie,  by 
both  speech  and  action  in  that  crucial  moment,  had  alleged, 
was  the  young  lawyer  guilty  of  perfidy — was  he  by  nature 
perfidious?  It  was  only  a  thought.  No,  a  thousand  times 
no — so  quick,  eager  even,  is  woman  to  absolve  from  all 
blame  the  object  of  her  affection.  Why,  look  at  Fred,  her 
brother.  Was  he  not  engaged  to  Lela  Frothingay?  And 
had  he  not  been  "interested"  in  other  girls?  And  even 
flirted  with  Freda  Levering — the  little  minx!  And  had 
she  not  been  compelled  to  go  to  Lela  and  smooth  things 
over  for  her  brother  ?  "And  Fred's  all  right — of  course  he 
is,  for  he's  my  brother,"  she  concluded,  triumphantly,  drop 
ping  for  the  moment  into  the  first  person,  present  tense. 

"Then,  too" — and  the  old  wistful  look  returned — it  was 


350  AMEKICANS  ALL 

with  difficulty  now  she  kept  back  her  tears — "when  I  told 
him  I  was  engaged  to  Harold,  didn't  I  also  tell  him  about 
Vergie,  and  how  beautiful  she  was,  and  how  happy  she 
could  make  him?"  And  just  at  this  precise  moment, 
whether  accidentally  or  not,  we  cannot  say,  she  gave  her 
hand  a  cruel  jab  with  the  sharp-pointed  scissors. 

"Oh,  what  a  little  fool  I  have  been!"  she  murmured  to 
herself,  again  dropping  back  into  the  first  person,  singular; 
"I  just  flung  him  away,  just  flung  him  away,  and  he  wanted 
me  so  much,  and  I  wanted  him!" 

And  a  pair  of  iridescent  tears  noiselessly  crept  up  the  vel 
vety  stairway  of  her  emotions,  and  timidly  peeked  out  of 
the  two  beautiful  turquoise-blue  windows  of  her  soul  and, 
not  being  scolded  or  rebuked,  came  out  on  a  twin  pair  of 
cheeks  that  were  so  lusciously  inviting  that  the  vandalism 
of  a  Sabine  lover  would  have  been  more  than  half  justified 
on  the  plea  of  irresistible  impulse,  awakened  by  overwhelm 
ing  temptation,  such  as  no  man  should  be  expected  to  resist, 
much  less  overcome. 

"And  what  must  he  think  of  me,  believing  me  to  be 
engaged  to  somebody  else,  and  letting  him  do  to  me  what 
he  did,  and  what  I  did  to  him,  the  night  I  was  hurrying  to 
get  help  so  that  the  mob  wouldn't  kill  the  Doctor  and 
Vergie?  Oh,  I  just  let  him  hug  me,  and  squeeze  me,  and 
kiss  me  'steen  times,  and  I  just  let  him  know  that  I  wanted 
him  to;  and  I — I  kissed  him  back,  too,  every  time!  Oh, 
how  can  he  ever  respect  me  again?" 

Her  face  now  was  very  crimson,  and  she  was  so  agitated 
she  broke  her  needle  and  had  to  put  aside  her  work. 

"And  yet" — an  hour  later  she  was  calmer,  having  rear 
ranged  the  flowers  in  a  vase,  bestowing  on  them  a  kiss  that 
was  more  ardent  than  ordinary  kisses — "I  know  he  didn't 
hate  me;  for  oh,  the  look  and  smile  he  gave  me  when  we 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  351 

all  thought  he  was  dying,  and  the  way  he  said,  'Mar- 
jorie' — 

"Oh,  dearie,  dearie,  how  I  wish  Sammy,  my  Sammy, 
would  just  grab  me,  and — and  corner  me,  and  just  make 
me  tell  him  how  much  I  love  him — wouldn't  it  be  sweet? 
What  a  horrid  old  bear  he'd  be,  I  just  know !  And  oh,  how 
I'd  like  it!  And  what  a  sudden  demand  there'd  be  for 
court-plaster!  Why,  Darnblazer  &  Russell  would  have  to 
order  it  by  the  carload!  And  for — for  Sammy,  too,  as  well 
as  me !" 

Thus  soliloquized  the  fair  and  exquisite  Marjorie — the 
original  girl  with  golden  hair,  and  the  fairest  and  queenliest 
of  them  all.  Yet  she  was  a  perfectly  correct  young  lady, 
very  modest — in  fact,  a  trifle  shy  and  timid — but  do  not 
maidens  sometimes  have  wee  thoughts  to  which  they  never 
give  utterance,  and  secretly  long  for  things  which,  when 
offered,  they  haughtily  decline  ? 

Early  in  June,  Charlotte  Culpepper  passed  away,  after 
Fredericksburg  and  Chancellorsville,  and  before  Vicksburg, 
Gettysburg,  and  Port  Hudson — while  the  hope  might  still 
be  cherished,  without  unreason,  that  at  last  her  cousin's 
government  would  triumph. 

A  week  before  the  preceding  Christmas,  the  Rockcastle 
Sanitarium  physicians  had  informed  her,  in  the  gentlest 
manner  possible,  that  she  had  passed  beyond  the  help  of 
man,  and  strongly  advised  her  to  return  home  to  her  hus 
band  and  daughter,  which  she  did. 

Under  existing  circumstances  and  conditions,  it  was  not 
a  joyful  Christmas  at  The  Elms.  Harold  was  gone,  the 
first  Christmas  since  his  birth  that  he  had  been  absent,  and 
that  presents  had  not  been  bought  for  him — but  now  his 
very  name  was  forbidden.  The  indignity  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  the  coarse  and  ruffianly  mob  yet  rankled  sorely  in 


352  AMERICANS  ALL 

father's  and  daughter's  hearts,  but  of  this  shameful  occur' 
rence  the  wife  and  mother,  happily,  never  learned.  And 
Vergie,  for  her  part,  had  her  own  secret  occasion  for  grief 
and  rage. 

But  sorrow  of  sorrows,  eclipsing  all  else,  the  light  of 
their  home  was  going  out;  their  beloved,  she  who  had 
always  been  the  Angel  of  the  Household,  plainly,  unmis 
takably,  was  dying. 

Humanly  speaking,  it  was  well.  The  Good  Book  speaks 
of  those  "afflictions  which  work  for  us  a  far  more  exceed 
ing  and  eternal  weight  of  glory.  While  we  look  not  at 
the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the  things  which  are  not 
seen:  for  the  things  which  are  seen  are  temporal;  but  the 
things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal." 

Charlotte  Culpepper  never  could  have  survived  the  pass 
ing  of  the  Old  Order,  nor  the  abusive  contumely  that  was 
so  soon  to  be  visited  on  her  cousin  and  all  his  kinsmen. 
It  was  far  better  that  she  should  fall  asleep,  as  she  did,  in 
the  month  of  June,  when  the  air  was  soft  and  sweet  with 
perfume,  and  Nature  was  in  high  and  glad  festival. 

Looking  wistfully  out  of  the  window  the  day  before  she 
died,  her  hands  held  by  her  beloved  Fairfax,  she  had  softly 
murmured  a  bit  of  verse  she  loved : 

"I  gazed  upon  the  glorious  sky 

And  the  green  mountains  round, 
And  thought  that  when  I  came  to  lie 

At  rest  within  the  ground, 
Twere  pleasant  that  in  flowery  June, 

When  brooks  sent  up  a  cheerful  tune, 

And  groves  a  joyous  sound, 
The  sexton's  hand,  my  grave  to  make, 
The  rich,  green  mountain  turf  should  break." 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  353 

And  'twas  thus,  "in  flowery  June,"  she  "fell  on  sleep." 

In  one  of  her  many  talks  with  Vergie  during  the  last 
week,  she  said: 

"Daughter,  dear,  do  not  shun  marriage — it  is  our  normal 
station  in  life;  for  woman  was  made  for  love  and  mar 
riage,  for  ministering  and  motherhood :  all  else  in  woman's 
life  is  misplaced,  misdirected,  and  worse  than  wasted. 

"Beware  of  so-called  strong-minded  women,  especially 
such  as  clamor  in  press  and  pulpit  and  on  the  rostrum,  and 
noisily  proclaim  that  they  have  a  mission.  Do  not  argue, 
but — keep  away  from  them.  For  woman's  true  mission  is 
at  the  fireside,  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  sewing-room  where 
new  garments  are  to  be  made,  and  old  ones  mended  and 
freshened,  and  in  the  sick-room  where  there  is  suffering 
and,  sooner  or  later,  death — and  the  dark  pall  of  bereave 
ment  and  sorrow. 

"Marry  for  love,  for  there's  nothing  else  worth  living 
for;  and  cherish  the  love  of  your  husband,  for,  Vergie, 
dear,  when  Love  is  dead  there  is  no  God. 

"Marry  for  children;  for  it's  as  much  woman's  mission 
to  add  to  the  jewels  of  the  Heavenly  Father's  Kingdom  as 
it  is  the  mission  of  the  sun  to  shine,  the  b;rds  to  sing,  the 
flowers  to  bloom,  or  the  earth  to  bring  forth  harvests — 
and  woman's  true  and  only  harvest  is  children.  A  child 
less  woman  is  but  a  fleck  of  blasted  and  unproductive 
Saharan  desert,  cheerless,  fruitless,  profitless. 

"Beware  of  selfish,  worldly,  childless  women,  my  dar 
ling.  Better  for  their  husbands,  and  for  the  world,  had  they 
never  been  born.  Their  influence  is  bad.  But  for  them 
their  husbands  might  have  married  normal  women  and  been 
blest,  and  blest  the  world,  with  offspring. 

"And,  Vergie,  name  one  of  your  daughters  Charlotte, 
won't  you,  for  me?  Maybe  she'll  cause  you  to  think  oftener 
of  your  dead  mother. 


354  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Marry  for  your  children ;  for  remember  you  alone  deter 
mine  who  shall  be  their  father — and  they  cannot  help  them 
selves.  You  therefore  must  select  for  them  a  father  whom 
they  can  love  and  honor — such  a  father  as  will  cause  them 
to  esteem  your  judgment,  and  always  to  be  thankful  to  you 
for  selecting  such  a  father  for  them. 

"O  Daughter,  I  so  wish  you  could  find  a  husband  just 
like  your  father — just  like  my  darling  Fairfax! 

"One  thing  more,  and  you  will  forgive  your  mother  for 
speaking  of  it.  It's  regarding  the  young  lawyer.  I  know 
it's  not  best  for  mothers  to  over-persuade  their  daughters 
as  to  whom  they  would  better,  or  better  not,  marry;  ye% 
in  these  matters  mothers  are  often  wiser  than  their  daugh 
ters,  and  many  a  daughter  would  have  been  spared  a  broken 
heart  and  a  blasted  life  had  she  heeded  her  mother's 
counsels. 

"I  had  hoped  you  would  marry  Felix  Palfrey.  He's  a 
good  man,  of  a  good  family,  a  man  of  education,  culture, 
and  refinement,  is  blest  with  wealth,  and  would  have  made 
you  a  good  husband,  and  your  children  a  noble  father  whom 
they  would  have  loved  and  been  proud  to  honor,  knowing 
that  he  was  an  honor  to  them. 

"I  know  he  disgusted  you  with  his  shams  and  disguises 
and  subterfuges,  and  that  you  came  to  hate  him  on  account 
of  what  you  called  his  falsehood,  hypocrisy,  and  double- 
dealing;  but  you  forgot,  my  darling,  that  it  was  all  in  the 
service  of  a  great  and  holy  Cause— it  was  all  for  your  Uncle 
Jefferson's  great  and  glorious  Government,  for  whom  and 
which  I  daily  offer  prayers  to  my  Heavenly  Father. 

"But  that's  all  past,  and  let's  believe  that  your  rejection 
of  Felix  was,  in  some  way,  providential.  Other  suitors  will 
come.  You  will  have  lovers  many,  for  my  little  ewe-lamb  is 
very  sweet  and  beautiful — and  you  will  find  a  good  husband. 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  355 

"But  I  was  speaking  of  the  young  lawyer — how  your 
mother's  mind  wanders!  Something  tells  me  that  you  like 
him ;  that,  in  a  girlish  way,  you  have  taken  a  fancy  to  him ; 
that  you  think  of  him  oftener  and  more  ardently  than  you 
should ;  and  O  Daughter,  were  you  to  come  together,  with 
your  nature  and  his,  how  terrible  your  love  would  be! — 
it  would  be  so  wild,  maddening,  desperate!  My  child,  my 
wildly  beautiful  Indian  Princess  Zohanozoheton,  idol  of 
your  mother's  inmost  soul,  true  daughter  of  your  father's 
heart  and  life,  and  in  so  many  ways  like  him,  I  tremble 
for  you ! 

"Do  not  love  that  man  Simonson !  Keep  away  from  him ! 
Hate  him!  I  know  he's  educated,  and  can  make  a  flowery 
speech,  and  even  your  father  at  first  was  taken  with  him; 
but — you  must  hate  him.  He  has  no  family,  no  good  blood. 
Abe  Simonson,  cracker  and  ex-convict,  is  his  father,  and 
his  mother's  no  better.  Think  of  our  blood,  the  best  blood 
of  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  being  polluted  in  the  veins  of  a 
brood  of  cracker  children !  My  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper  the 
mother  of  old  Abe  Simonson' s  grandchildren !" 

The  mother  was  exhausted,  and  lay  back  on  her  pillow, 
gasping  for  breath.  Vergie  looked  broodingly  into  her 
mother's  face,  never  before  having  been  so  addressed. 
Through  her  skin,  tanned  from  much  outdoor  life,  her 
dark-red  Indian  blood  came  and  went,  rose  and  fell.  Her 
eyes,  blacker  now  than  inkiest  midnight,  seemed  to  have  in 
them  a  consuming  heat,  as  though  thinly  veiling  a  seething 
volcano.  She  was  so  still  and  statuesque  and  abrood  with 
deep,  deep  thoughts,  and  nerved  to  utmost  tension  with 
fierce  passions  and  emotions  that  had  almost  wrecked  her 
reason,  she  might  indeed  have  passed  for  an  Indian  prin 
cess,  awed  by  some  great  anguishing  mystery,  and  lashed 
almost  beyond  control  by  a  well-nigh  overwhelming  fury 
— yet  through  it  all  grimly  stoical,  rigidly  holding  herself 


AMEBICANS  ALL 

silent  and  steady,  scorning  to  give  sign  or  token  of  aught 
that  she  thought  or  suffered. 

"Daughter,"  the  mother,  somewhat  revived,  whispered, 
"you've  not  answered  your  mother." 

"Mother,  ask  what  you  will;  with  all  my  heart  I  will 
gladly  promise  you,  sweetest  and  dearest  of  mothers !" 

"God  be  praised!"  the  mother  ejaculated,  lifting  her 
hands  as  high  as  she  could,  and  clapping  them  again  and 
again. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Daughter." 

Vergie  knelt  at  the  bedside  and  gave  her  hands  to  her 
mother. 

"Now,  Daughter,  repeat  after  me: 

"I,  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper " 

"I,  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper " 

"Do  solemnly  promise " 

"Do  solemnly  promise " 

"My  dying  mother " 

"My  dying  mother " 


"That  I  shall  never  marry " 

"That  I  shall  never  marry " 

"Samuel  Simonson " 

"Samuel  Simonson " 

"Or  any  other  of  inferior  blood  and  character, " 

"Or  any  other  of  inferior  blood  and  character, " 

"SO  HELP  ME  GOD." 

"SO  HELP  ME  GOD." 

Each  word  Vergie  repeated  after  her  mother,  with  her  deep 
voice,  solemn  and  low-toned  as  the  notes  of  a  great  cathe 
dral  bell,  as  it  booms  at  twilight  across  the  distant  waters. 

"You  said  it,  Daughter,  as  though  you  meant  it." 

"I  not  merely  said  it,  Mother,  dear,  but  I  vowed  it ;  and' 
may  my  soul  be  damned  if  I  break  my  vow  to  you!" 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  357 

"O  Daughter,  isn't  that  blasphemy?" 

"I  know  not,  but  I  mean  it.  If  it  be  blasphemy,  then  let 
my  soul  be  accursed.  I  cannot  change  it.  Mother,  your 
blessing!" 

Reverently,  Charlotte  Culpepper  pronounced  the  historic 
blessing  of  her  church,  adding  thereto,  "My  beloved  daugh 
ter,  Virginia  Lee." 

"Now,  Mother,  darling,"  in  her  deep  voice,  "one  more 
blessing — for  Harold !" 

"Hush,  Daughter!"  the  mother  whispered.  "Your  father 
does  not  permit " 

"Nevertheless,  he's  your  son;  he's  my  brother.  Can  you 
withhold  your  blessing  from  your  only  son,  my  only 
brother?  Don't  you  love  Harold  any  more?  O  Mother, 
I  love  my  darling  brother  more  and  more ;  and  though  I'm 
not  good  like  you,  dearest  Mama,  I  pray  for  him  every 
day." 

"And  the  good  God  will  hear  and  answer  your  prayers, 
my  precious.  But  hark!  Isn't  that  your  father  coming?" 

Vergie  looked.    "No,  Mother;  it's  only  Betzeliza." 

"Daughter,  close  the  door.  Kneel  once  more  before  me. 
It  will  break  my  heart  to  die  without  leaving  my  poor  boy  a 
mother's  blessing." 

With  both  hands  clasped  on  her  daughter's  vicariously- 
offered  head  Charlotte  Culpepper  again  pronounced  the 
great  blessing  that  has  been  the  solace  of  countless  millions, 
this  time  adding,  "My  darling  son,  my  dearly  beloved  son 
Harold." 

"You'll  tell  Harold,  won't  you,  that  his  mother  left  him 
her  blessing?" 

"Yes,  dearest  Mother ;  and  for  him,  as  he  would  do  if  he 
were  here,  I  bless  you,  and  adore  you  for  it !" 

The  day  after  Charlotte  Culpepper's  funeral,  a  lady  in 


358  AMERICANS  ALL 

deep  mourning  and  heavily  veiled,  walked  up  the  brick-paved 
way  from  the  street  to  the  mansion  known  as  The  Maples. 
The  Gildersleeves  were  seated  on  the  broad  colonial  porch. 

Without  raising  her  veil  the  caller  said,  "I  would  see  Mr. 
Simonson." 

"Why,  it's  Vergie,"  they  exclaimed  with  one  accord. 
"Certainly,  Miss  Vergie,"  said  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  "Remove 
your  things  and  be  seated.  I'll  call  Mr.  Simonson.  Yon 
know  he's  able  to  be  up  now." 

"Thanks,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  I'll  not  be  seated.  I  wish  to 
see  Mr.  Simonson  alone." 

Mystified,  all  save  Marjorie,  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  gently 
replied : 

"Certainly,  my  dear ;  just  pass  in.  His  is  the  second  room 
to  the  left,  upstairs." 

Noiselessly  she  glided  in.  The  yoting  lawyer's  door  was 
ajar  and  she  entered  without  ceremony.  Suddenly  looking 
up  from  a  book,  a  volume  of  Cicero's  orations,  he  saw  before 
him  a  woman,  or  rather  the  black  sheath — gown,  hat,  veil — 
that  wholly  concealed  her.  However,  he  instantly  recognized 
her  and  involuntarily  exclaimed,  "Vergie!" 

Ignoring  his  salutation,  but  with  that  tone  of  voice  which, 
once  having  heard,  one  could  never  forget,  she  said:  "You 
gave  me  these !" 

She  flung  down  on  a  table  beside  him  a  rose,  a  buckthorn 
leaf  and  blossom,  and  a  spray  of  fern,  but  all  crushed  and 
broken. 

Again  the  young  lawyer  essayed  to  rise,  to  speak,  to  say 
or  do  something,  but  she  would  not  permit  him. 

"My  blessed  mother  tried  to  teach  me  to  hate  you,"  in 
the  same  marvelous  tone  of  deepest  passion,  "but  she  failed, 
because — I  already  hated  you!" 

Only  for  an  instant  she  raised  her  veil,  not  for  him  to 
see  her  face,  nor  indeed  that  she  might  see  his,  but  that  she 


VOWS  AND  MAIDEN  FANCIES  359 

might  have  the  testimony  of  her  own  eyes  that  the  person 
whom  she  was  addressing  was  really  the  man  against  whom 
she  had  vowed  eternal  hatred. 

As  noiselessly  as  she  had  entered  she  now  departed — and 
without  farewell,  as  she  had  entered  without  salutation. 

She  had  been  wounded — almost  unto  death. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
'TWIXT  LOVE  AND  DUTY — BATTLE  OF  CHICKAMAUGA 

THE  wonderful  summer  of  '63  was  epochal  in  the  lives 
and  history  of  many  New  Richmond  families. 

It  was  during  that  eventful  summer  that  New  Richmond 
learned  that  Harold  Culpepper  was  very  much  alive;  that 
he  had  become  "Major  Culpepper  of  the  33d  Kentucky  Vol 
unteers,"  commonly  known  as  "The  Kentucky  Terrors ;" 
that  Major  Culpepper  had  been  with  Grant  at  Paducah, 
Henry,  Donelson,  Corinth,  and  Shiloh,  and  was  now  a 
prisoner  of  war  at  Libby  prison,  Richmond,  Virginia ;  that 
Albert  Levering,  who  had  rendered  valiant  service  in  Com 
pany  C,  6oth  Illinois  Volunteers,  had  been  severely  wounded 
and  was  in  a  hospital  at  Louisville,  Kentucky;  and  that 
Hugh  Grant  had  risen  to  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-Colonel, 
and  had  been  mentioned  for  "conspicuous  bravery  and  gal 
lantry"  by  Grant  in  an  official  dispatch  to  the  President. 

How  this  intelligence  had  affected  the  parents  of  the  boys, 
all  from  Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle  households,  mav  be 
surmised  from  the  following  brief  conversation.  Old  Joel 
Levering,  rankest  of  rebels,  but  having  the  heart  of  a  true 
sportsman,  one  day  meeting  Dr.  Culpepper,  observed : 

"Ouh  boys  ah  makin*  uh  mouty  fine  recohd,  suh,  even  ef 
they  ah  damned  Unionists.  Al,  my  son,  is  in  the  hospital 
at  Louisville — hole  in  his  side  ez  big  ez  youah  fist;  nuvva 
uh  whimpeh,  suh.  Hugh's  uh  Lieutenant-Colonel,  damn 
him,  an's  gwine  tu  mahry  muh  daughteh  Freda — got  uh 
lettah  from  him  wantin'  muh  consent,  th'  infernal  rascal! 

360 


TWIXT  LOVE  AND  DUTY  361 

Guess  Ah'll  hev  tuh  tek  him  in.  Be  ez  poah  ez  paupehs,  suh, 
but  Freda  doan'  care.  An'  youah  boy,  Docteh !  Neveh  uh 
fineh  boy  than  youah  son  Harold,  an'  he's  a  Majah,  suh,  uh 
rale  Majah,  Docteh !" 

"Yes,  Joel;  wish  he  was  in  the  ground  instead  of  Char 
lotte,"  replied  the  Doctor,  and  walked  gloomily  on. 

But  of  all  the  surprises  none  equaled  that  of  the  young 
lawyer's  abandonment  of  his  profession  and  enlistment  in 
the  army. 

His  action  could  hardly  be  said  to  have  met  with  anyone's 
approval.  "Sammy,"  said  Judge  Gildersleeve,  "you  are 
practically  at  the  head  of  the  Raleigh  County  bar,  with  a 
practice  such  as  the  oldest  of  us  rarely  have  enjoyed,  and 
with  a  great  and  honorable  career  before  you ;  besides  your 
health  is  not  good  enough  for  soldiering.  So  far  as  the 
wound's  concerned  you're  all  right,  but  man  alive  you're  so 
weak  and  wobbly  on  your  pins  you'll  collapse  and  go  to 
pieces  in  less  than  a  month — peter  out  right  away.  And 
the  folks  down  at  The  Maples — they'll  never  consent;  and 
Elizabeth  ought  to  have  something  to  say.  Give  it  up, 
Sammy,  give  it  up!" 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  wrote  Unkmyer,  Provost  Marshal 
at  Onsted.  "You're  worth  more,  single-handed,  in  Southern 
Illinois,  than  any  ten  regiments  in  the  field.  We  simply 
can't  get  along  without  you  in  Egypt.  Why  rush  down 
South  and  get  your  damned  head  shot  off  ?" 

Colonel  Morton,  who  yet  remained  in  New  Richmond, 
earnestly  labored  to  dissuade  the  young  lawyer.  "There's 
every  reason,  Simonson,  why  you  should  remain  here. 
Armentrout  and  all  the  ultras  are  up  in  arms  against  your 
going  away,  and  you  can't  be  spared.  Indiana,  from  the 
Lake  to  the  River,  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Copperheads;  a 
majority  of  the  Indiana  legislature  is  openly  in  alliance  with 
Vallandigham  and  Seymour,  and  secretly  in  collusion  with 


362  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  government  at  Richmond ;  and  were  not  Governor  Mor 
ton  every  inch  a  hero,  everything  in  Indiana  would  go  by  the 
board.  Here  in  Southern  Illinois  the  situation  never  was 
worse,  and  you  alone  are  master  of  the  whole  layout.  Then 
the  War-Democrats,"  he  continued,  "swear  by  you,  and  we 
simply  must  keep  them  in  line.  Finally,  Simonson,  even  the 
Seceshers,  the  Grants  and  Frothingays  and  Leverings, 
respect  you;  and  you're  the  only  man  that  can  act  as  a 
go-between." 

However,  after  all  persuasion  and  argument  and  citation 
of  undeniable  facts,  Simonson  was  none  the  less  resolved  to 
enlist.  In  his  present  state  of  mind  he  felt  that  it  would  be 
a  relief  to  face  shot  and  shell — even  to  welcome  death. 
Possibly  he  was  a  trifle  morbid  after  his  long  fierce  contest 
with  bullet-wound  and  disease,  but  it  was  more  than  that. 

He  was  profoundly  conscience-stricken  on  account  of  his 
treatment  of  Vergie  and  that,  too,  at  such  a  time;  her 
brother  in  prison;  her  father  in  constant  jeopardy:  when 
every  instinct  of  chivalry,  no  matter  how  much  he  might 
love  another  woman,  should  have  kept  him  loyal  to  her. 

And  now,  such  is  the  perversity  of  the  heart,  that  he  had 
lost  Vergie  he  really  desired  her.  Previously  her  sparkling 
naivette  and  zestful  camaraderie  had  been  the  lure  but  now 
he  felt  it  was  Vergie  herself.  Of  passion  there  was  none, 
and  at  that  he  marvelled ;  now  the  impulse  was  purely  altru 
istic.  In  his  remorseful  self-abnegation  he  was  willing  to 
be  unhappy  that  she  might  be  happy ;  yet  if  he  could  only 
bring  back  to  her  cheeks  the  old-time  splendor,  to  her  eyes 
the  former  gladsome  light,  to  her  voice  the  lilt  and  laughter 
of  the  day  at  the  buckthorn  tree  and  other  wonderful  days 
he,  too,  would  be  unspeakably  happy. 

"Oh,  yes,"  often  he  said  to  himself,  "I  love  Marjorie. 
She's  all  the  world  to  me;  how  can  I  live  without  her? 


'TWIXT  LOVE  AND  DUTY  363 

But  though  I  have  reason  to  think  she  loves  me  yet — she 
belongs  to  another." 

Then  he  would  compel  himself  to  consider  Vergie  and, 
goaded  by  an  offended  conscience  that  wrathfully  and  inces 
santly  told  him  he  had  treated  her  shamefully  and  pity  for 
her  in  her  loneliness  and  sorrow,  he  would  vow  to  conse 
crate  himself  to  her  happiness  and,  could  he  win  her  consent, 
to  claim  her  as  his  wife. 

Of  course  dilettante  casuists  would  have  told  him  that 
he  was  illogical  and  unpsychological,  that  before  acting  he 
should  carefully  analyze  his  motives  and  emotions.  But 
when  was  love  ever  rational,  or  an  offended  conscience 
analytical?  That  he  must  make  reparation  to  the  sorely 
grieved  and  offended  girl  was  his  uppermost  thought — 
how  ?  By  giving  her  that  which,  seemingly,  she  had  desired 
above  all  else — himself.  If  grief  and  humiliation  had  steeled 
her  against  all  future  affection  or  happiness — what  then? 
Then  he  must  mitigate  her  disappointment  as  much  as  pos 
sible  by  consecrating  to  her  a  life-time  of  loving  service 
and  devotion. 

So  he  would  go  away  for  a  season  to  give  Vergie  time  to 
lose  some  of  the  fierceness  of  her  wrath  against  him,  and 
to  gird  himself  against  his  love  for  Marjorie — as  the  young 
girl  about  to  take  the  veil  goes  into  retirement  for  a  season 
to  divest  herself  of  all  carnal  affection,  and  to  gird  herself 
for  the  high  and  holy  service  to  which  she  has  solemnly 
dedicated  her  life. 

In  the  meantime  Vergie,  also,  was  preparing  to  leave  New 
Richmond ;  but  with  her  all  thoughts  of  self  were  put  aside, 
forgotten,  in  her  all-consuming  desire  to  comfort  her  brother 
in  Libby  Prison  and,  if  possible,  to  secure  his  release. 

Thus  it  chanced  that  .Simonson  and  Vergie  Culpepper, 
each  ignorant  of  the  other's  plans  and  purposes,  were  soon 
to  leave  New  Richmond,  one  to  hasten  to  old  Richmond,  the 


364  AMERICANS  ALL 

other  to  join  the  Union  army,  under  the  command  of  Rose- 
crans,  now  on  the  eve  of  the  awful  battle  of  Chickamauga. 

Marjorie's  and  the  young  lawyer's  parting  had  in  it  noth 
ing  of  the  dramatic,  and  to  both  was  exceedingly  disap 
pointing. 

With  all  his  inward  perturbation,  and  secret  vows  of 
fidelity  to  Vergie,  Simonson  was  disappointed  because  Mar- 
jorie  at  the  last  moment  had  exhibited  so  little  emotion,  or 
none  at  all.  He  did  not  consider  what  Marjorie  had  a 
right  to  expect  of  him,  after  all  that  had  occurred,  and  that 
now  he  was  treating  her  with  a  formality  that  was  wholly 
inexplicable,  at  least  to  her;  nor  did  he  consider  her  innate 
shyness  and  timidity.  Afterward  he  was  rather  glad  she 
had  exhibited  so  little  concern  ;  it  seemed  to  lessen  his  perfidy 
toward  her,  and  to  afford  him  greater  freedom  to  give  him 
self  unreservedly  to  the  promotion  of  Vergie's  future  hap 
piness.  Of  course,  Marjorie's  reserve  was  inspired,  he 
thought,  by  her  loyalty  to  Harold. 

For  obvious  reasons  Marjorie,  at  the  last,  unvexed  by 
secret  torments,  and  with  her  pure  heart  wholly  given  to 
the  young  lawyer,  was  sorely  puzzled  and  bitterly  disap 
pointed. 

When  informed  that  "my  Sammy"  was  going  to  the  war 
she  had  wept  till  her  eyes  were  very  red,  and  indulged  in 
many  maidenly  lamentations ;  but  there  was  at  least  this 
consolation:  this  new  crisis  would  afford  opportunity  for 
them  to  come  to  a  clear  and  distinct  understanding. 

Then  she  had  pictured  in  her  mind,  as  maidens  will  do, 
just  how  it  would  all  come  about.  Sometime,  she  couldn't 
tell  just  when;  and  somewhere,  she  hoped  it  would  be  in 
the  library  when  the  folks  were  all  out,  he  would  be  very 
pale  and  unhappy,  and  she  would  comfort  him — so  and  so, 
and  so  and  so.  And  then  he  would  take  just  the  wee-est  bit 
of  hope  and  move  a  little  closer  to  her  and  she  would 


'TWIXT  LOVE  AND  DUTY  365 

encourage  him  a  little  more — so  and  so,  and  so  and  so, 
becoming  just  the  wee-est,  tiniest  bit  bold.  Then,  finally, 
he  would  make  the  great  discovery  that,  really  and  truly, 
after  all,  she  did  love  him  with  all  her  heart,  and  would 
grab  her,  just  like  a  horrid  old  bear;  and  she  wouldn't  resist 
at  all,  only  just  the  wee-est,  ft-niest,  /tV-tle-est  bit,  just  for 
the  sake  of  appearances,  and  to  make  him  all  the  more 
awfully,  awfully  bearish.  And  then  he  would  just  thus  and 
thus  and  so,  and  she,  no  longer  under  restraint  because  all 
the  fault  was  his,  because  he  had  taken  the  advantage  of 
her  in  spite  of  ail  that  she  could  do,  would  just  thus  and 
thus  and  so  to  him  all  that  he  wanted  her  to.  And  then, 
after  the  long-est  while  of  thus-'mg  and  thus-'mg  and  so-ing, 
she  would  tell  him  she  hadn't  been  engaged  to  Harold  for 
the  long-est  while ;  and  that  she  never  had  loved  Harold  at 
all;  and  that  she  couldn't  be  anybody  else's  but  his,  that  is, 
Sammy's,  forever  and  forever. 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  event  proved  to  be  just  the 
opposite.  "Sammy"  didn't  "grab"  her,  or  "corner"  her,  or 
become  a  "horrid  old  bear,"  nor  "compel"  her  to  tell  him 
anything;  and,  pitiful  to  relate,  did  not  give  her  even  the 
wee-est  "chance"  to  tell  him  what  she  supremely  desired 
him  to  know. 

The  leave-taking  was  very  simple,  very  prosaic,  very 
matter  of  fact.  The  hack  that  was  to  take  him  to  Serepta, 
whence  he  was  to  go  by  rail  to  Cincinnati,  came  while  they 
were  at  breakfast.  The  family  arose  with  the  young  lawyer. 
"Sammy"  gravely  shook  the  hand  of  each  member  of  the 
family,  simply  saying,  "Good-bye,"  and  a  moment  later  was 
being  whirled  away.  Could  anything  have  been  more 
unlover-like  ?  And  especially  remembering  that  "Sammy" 
had  spent  the  entire  previous  evening,  his  last  evening,  at  the 
office  with  her  father  talking  business? 

And  yet  Marjorie — Oh,  woman,  seer,  see-er,  of  things 


366  AMERICANS  ALL 

invisible  to  keenest  masculine  vision,  and  interpreter  of 
things  unwritten  even  in  Horatio's  dream-philosophy !  Mar- 
jorie  saw  something  in  the  young  lawyer's  eyes  that  neither 
the  Judge  or  Elizabeth  or  Fred  saw;  felt  something  in  the 
touch  of  his  hand  that  none  of  them  felt;  thought,  though  of 
this  she  might  have  been  mistaken,  that  he  held  her  hand 
just  an  instant  longer  than  he  held  their 's ;  and  observed  that 
while  in  taking  leave  of  the  others  he  had  simply  said, 
"Good-bye,"  to  her  he  had  said,  "Good-bye,  Marjorie" — 
and  he  had  said  it  just  as  he  said  it  that  night  when  he  had 
caught  up  with  her  in  the  dark — the  night  Dr.  Culpepper 
and  Vergie  were  mobbed. 

The  truth  must  be  told:  not  wholly  because  of  patriotic 
ardor  had  the  young  lawyer  become  a  member  of  Rosecrans' 
Army — (whose  Chief-of-Staff  was  to  become,  seventeen 
years  later,  the  twentieth  President  of  the  United  States)  ; 
not,  indeed,  that  he  was  unpatriotic,  but  to  escape  unhappy 
memories,  the  clamor  of  a  reproving  conscience,  and  to 
gird  himself  for  the  performance  of  a  duty  which  he 
regarded  himself  in  the  highest  sense  honor-bound  to  per 
form.  Hence  his  supreme  motive,  in  seeking  a  new  environ 
ment  and  a  different  arena  of  endeavor,  was  to  find  harder 
work,  gravest  peril,  and — forgetf ulness ;  and  in  forgetfulness 
to  renew  his  strength. 

He  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  time  or  place.  Vicks- 
burg,  Gettysburg,  Fort  Hudson  and  other  victories  had 
keyed-up  the  Federal  army  to  a  high  enthusiasm  and  Presi 
dent  Lincoln  was  no  longer  under  the.  necessity  of  pleading 
with  truculent  and  recalcitrant  generals;  the  very  air  was 
surcharged  with  martial  ardor  and  determination. 

Everybody  felt,  too,  that  very  soon  a  great  and  decisive 
battle  was  to  be  fought  in  the  West  and  presently  all  eyes 
were  turned  toward  Chattanooga  as  the  probable  storm- 
centre. 


'TWIXT  LOVE 


LBMRY 


In  that  mountainous  neighborhood  two  great  armies  were 
concentrated :  the  Federal  under  Rosecrans,  the  Confederate 
under  Bragg. 

Rosecrans,  unhappily,  was  at  outs  with  the  War  Depart 
ment  at  Washington  but  was  believed  to  be  a  brave,  skillful, 
and  patriotic  commanden  Bragg  labored  under  the  depres- 
tige  of  many  sore  defeats,  having  but  recently  been  forced 
out  of  Shelbyville,  Wartrace,  and  Tullahoma;  but  he  was 
known  to  be  fanatically  loyal  to  the  Confederacy  and  a 
valorous  fighter.  He  was  also  known  to  be  reenforced  by 
the  indomitable  Longstreet  and  his  veteran  corps  drawn 
from  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia.  Bragg  had  about 
92,000  men,  with  Hood,  Buckner,  and  Walker  of  J.  E.  John 
ston's  army,  as  his  chief  field  officers.  Rosecrans'  greatest 
field  marshal  was  Gen.  George  H.  Thomas,  while  his  army 
outnumbered  Bragg's  two  or  three  to  one. 

It  was  at  Chickamauga,  September  20,  1863,  the  young 
lawyer  had  his  first  taste  of  war — and  he  liked  it.  After 
ward  he  came  to  hate  it,  but  now  it  afforded  him  what  he 
wanted :  action,  peril,  concentration  of  thought  on  the 
imminent  and  immediate,  tremendous  endeavor. 

He  was  fortunate  in  being  in  a  regiment  that  fought  all 
the  afternoon  until  nightfall  close  to  Thomas,  the  Rock  of 
Chickamauga ;  saw  Longstreet  hurl  Hood  through  the  open 
ing  made  by  Woods'  mistake,  the  whole  Federal  left  wing 
crumble,  and  the  Federal  troops  turned  into  an  orderless 
rabble ;  saw  Garfield  arrive  at  Thomas'  headquarters  with 
the  terrible  news  that  Rosecrans  had  given  up  the  battle  as 
lost,  and  had  returned  to  Chattanooga  to  prepare  for  an 
orderly  retreat;  saw  Longstreet  in  person  lead  the  historic 
charge,  swift  and  awful, -on  Thomas'  right  and  center;  saw 
the  shattered  Federal  troops,  panic-stricken,  surging  back 
through  the  gaps,  Thomas  never  budging,  immovable  as  the 
spur  of  Missionary  Ridge  that  loomed  up  behind  him ;  heard 


368  AMEEICANS  ALL 

of  the  reinforcements  that  would  enable  Thomas  to  hold  Polk 
and  Longstreet  at  bay  till  other  troops  could  be  sent  to  him — 
the  troops  that  never  came — or  till  darkness  would  bring 
deliverance;  saw  soldiers  joyfully  drink  the  sacrament  of 
patriotism,  some  wearing  the  gray,  some  the  blue ;  saw  men 
die,  gasping  in  death :  "God  bless  and  save  my  country" — 
some  praying  for  the  government  at  Richmond,  others  for 
the  government  at  Washington ;  saw  bravery  and  heroism 
unsurpassed  at  Marathon  or  Thermopylae — now  under  the 
Stars  and  Bars,  now  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes;  saw  the 
raptures  of  heavenly  glory,  smile  of  the  great  Jehovah,  on 
lips  already  cold  in  death — the  one  hero  from  Mississippi, 
the  other  from  Massachusetts ;  saw  devout  priests  and  min 
isters  braving  the  perils  and  horrors  of  destruction,  gently 
commending  the  dear  Jesus,  and  holding  before  eyes  rapidly 
dimming  in  death  the  Savior's  Cross — some  of  the  priests 
and  ministers  owning  glad  and  devout  allegiance  to  Jeffer 
son  Davis,  others  to  Abraham  Lincoln ;  God,  Savior,  Mother, 
Wife,  Sister,  Daughter,  Sweetheart,  ah,  how  men,  even 
when  grim  Death  is  mercilessly  throttling  them,  even  after 
consciousness  has  left  them,  still  murmur  the  sweetest  and 
sacredest  names— and  often  these  names  he  heard,  now  on 
the  lips  of  Rosecrans'  dying  men,  now  on  the  lips  of  the 
smitten  boys  of  Bragg's  and  Hood's  and  Longstreet's 
cohorts;  all  these  things  he  saw  and  heard,  and  more. 

The  coordination  and  coordering  of  the  Federal  troops, 
if  there  was  any  unity  of  council  and  action  aside  from  the 
troops  under  Thomas'  command,  Simonson  was  too  busy,  or 
too  ignorant  of  the  technique  of  war,  to  understand — per 
haps  there  was  no  synthesis  at  all.  Fate  or  Providence  had 
placed  him  at  the  very  vortex  'of  the  seething  hell  of 
destruction. 

To  him  it  all  was  most  terrible,  most  intoxicating,  glori 
ous.  Advancing  now,  and  now  retreating;  now  wedged  at 


369 

the  right,  now  catapulted  from  the  left;  hurled  down  this 
ravine,  and  in  a  moment  mounting  back  again — as  ships,  for 
a  moment  plunged  into  the  trough  of  the  sea,  rise  to  soar  the 
loftiest  billows;  now  fighting  single-handed,  now  in  the 
maelstrom  of  regiments  and  battalions  swirling  like  some 
awful  gyratory  storm,  or  waters  at  a  rocky  headland  lashed 
by  powerful  contending  currents  to  foam  and  inextricable 
confusion ;  now  the  "rebel  yell,"  now  the  "yankee  thunder," 
and  now  the  two  in  one  as  they  grappled  unto  death  for  the 
others'  colors  or  position. 

Once  Simonson  saw  a  Federal  battle-flag  fall,  the  brave 
bearer  shot  through  the  head.  The  regiment,  seeing  Long- 
street  coming  with  an  overwhelming  force,  broke  and  fled. 
Simonson  grabbed  up  the  flag  just  as  there  was  a  counter 
charge,  and  Longstreet  swerved  to  the  right.  At  that  mo 
ment  Lieut-Col.  Charles  H.  Morgan,  of  the  2ist  Wisconsin, 
came  dashing  up. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  that  flag?''  he  thundered. 

"The  color-bearer's  dead,  sir,"  touching  his  cap,  "and 
the  regiment's  gone ;  and  I'm  saving  the  Union,  you  see, 
single-handed." 

"Where's  your  company,  regiment,  command?" 

"Don't  know,  sir,"  standing  "attention."  "Too  busy  saving 
the  Union  to  look  after  them,  too.  They'll  have  to  look  out 
for  themselves  till  I  get  through  with  this  job." 

"Is  there  an  eagle  branded  on  the  staff  of  the  flag?" 

Looking — "There  is,  sir." 

"Then  it  belongs  to  one  of  the  Wisconsin  regiments.  I 
belong  to  the  Twenty-first.  Give  it  to  me !" 

So  the  battle  of  Chickamauga  raged.  There  wasn't  much 
order.  At  times  it  was  a  captain's  battle,  sometimes  even  a 
private's.  After  McCook  and  Crittenden,  both  corps-com 
manders,  and  Rosecrans,  commander-in-chief,  had  aban 
doned  the  field  and  returned  to  Chattanooga,  not  knowing 


370  AMERICANS  ALL 

whether  Thomas  were  annihilated  or  not,  the  battle  often 
degenerated  into  hand-to-hand  contests.  Sometimes  a  pri 
vate,  a  natural  leader  among  his  boon  companions,  would 
shout:  "Come  on,  fellows.  Let's  give  'em  hell,  down 
yonder !"  and  away  they'd  go. 

On  two  or  three  such  occasions  the  young  lawyer's  instinct 
for  leadership  asserted  itself.  Once  a  rush  was  made  by  a 
remnant  of  Buckner's  command,  not  more  than  a  score  or 
thirty  men,  to  take  a  Federal  gun  that  was  held  only  by  the 
gunners.  The  task  would  have  been  easy,  and  flying  strag 
glers  were  making  no  resistance.  Fired  by  the  shame  of  the 
thing,  and  recalling  a  few  of  the  commands  and  evolutions 
he  had  learned  in  the  Harvard  cadet-corps,  and  during  2 
summer's  drill  in  the  Massachusetts  rnilitia,  he  shouted: 
"Attention !  'Bout  face !  At  'em,  and  give  'em  hell !"  Suit 
ing  the  action  to  the  command  he  took  the  lead.  The  strag 
glers,  stirred  by  the  bravery  and  audacity  of  the  "high  pri 
vate,"  fell  in  line,  and  the  "Johnny  Rebs"  took  to  their 
heels.  Gaw,  Garfield,  and  Wood  witnessed  the  act,  and 
Garfield  said,  "I  must  ascertain  his  name  and  command,  and 
mention  him  to  my  chief.  Just  now  the  army  is  needing 
such  young  men  ;  and  if  I'm  not  mistaken  some  mighty  good 
material's  going  to  waste  there." 

At  last — but,  oh,  how  long  that  terrible  afternoon! — the 
battle  was  over.  Gen.  Gordon  Granger  had  fired  the  last 
volley,  a  shotted  salute  of  six  Napoleon  guns,  and  Simonson, 
hunting  for  his  command,  was  passing  through  a  woods- 
pasture.  Presently  he  heard  the  voice  of  a  man,  evidently 
dying.  There  were  thousands  of  men  on  every  hand  dead, 
or  dying — many  of  them  praying  and  commending  their 
souls  to  God ;  but  there  was  something  so  pathetic  above  the 
ordinary  about  this  voice  he  was  about  to  answer  when 
some  one  else  responded. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  heard  the  sufferer  ask. 


'TWIXT  LOVE  AND  DUTY  371 

"No  matter,  my  boy,"  was  the  gentle  response,  "but  I'm 
General  Polk,  a  corps-commander.  What  can  I  do  for 
you  ?"  The  voice  was  very  soft  and  caressing. 

"Do  you  hate  the  Rebels  ?"  Evidently  the  dying  man  had 
not  understood  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  responded 
to  his  call;  or  did  not  remember  that  General  Polk  was  a 
great  Confederate  general. 

"No,  lad ;  I  don't  hate  any  one.    I'm  sorry  if  you  do." 

"No,  I  don't — except  the  Rebels.  Say "  There  was 

a  long  pause ;  and  when  he  spoke  again  his  voice  was  much 
weaker.  The  sands  of  life  were  fast  ebbing  away.  "S-say, 
can  you  pray?" 

"Yes,  dear  boy.  I'm  what  you  call  a  preacher,  the  Bishop 
of  Louisiana.  Would  you  like  for  me  to  pray  for  you?" 

"Y-yes,  Gen — Bish — w'atever  you  are.  I'm  Billy  Smith 
of  the  nth  Connecticut.  I  w-wish  you'd  pray  for — for  me. 
I  g-guess  I'm  d-dy " 

Reverently  the  brave  Confederate  General  (who  was  also 
a  godly  Bishop)  commended  the  dying  Federal  soldier's  soul 
to  God.  And  as  the  "Rebel"  General  "talked  with  God,"  as 
friend  with  friend,  peace  came  to  the  poor  soldier's  soul — 
Billy  Smith  of  the  nth  Connecticut.  The  prayer  ended,  the 
Bishop-General  addressed  the  sufferer,  but  there  was  no 
response.  His  soul  had  been  wafted  to  the  realms  of  the 
blest — "where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the 
weary  are  at  rest" — soothed  and  sustained  by  a  "Rebel" 
general's  prayer. 

The  following  day  Simonson  was  ordered  to  report  at 
Rosecrans'  office,  Army  Headquarters. 

"My  chief-of-staff,  General  Garfield,"  old  "Rosey"  said 
kindly,  "has  been  telling  me  about  you.  He  thinks  you've 
material  that  ought  to  be  utilized.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  the  manual  of  arms,  and  how  to  handle  men?" 


372  AMERICANS  ALL 

General  Garfield  laughingly  broke  in,  "General,  you  should 
have  seen  him  yesterday.  I  then  said  to  myself,  'There's  a 
better  captain  than  many  I  could  name.'  " 

Simonson  modestly  detailed  his  meager  military  knowl 
edge,  and  the  even  less  experience  he  had  had  in  command 
ing  men. 

"I  like  the  way  he  talks,  Garfield,"  turning  to  his  chief-of- 
staff.  "What  about  Company  K  you  were  telling  me  about, 
a  part  of  which  this  youngster  actually  did  command  a  while 
yesterday  afternoon  ?" 

"Much  depleted,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  General.  Hood  almost 
annihilated  it.  What's  left  want  this  young  man  for  their 
new  captain — they've  been  to  see  me  to-day.  And  by  the 
way,  General,  you  know  their  captain,  Captain  Goldthwaite, 
was  among  the  killed  yesterday ;  so  that  Company  K  must 
have  another  captain." 

Again  Rosecrans  turned  and  kindly  scrutinized  the  young 
lawyer.  "Simonson — I  believe  that's  your  name — I'm  going 
to  make  you  a  captain,  and  give  you  Company  K." 

"No,  no,"  he  expostulated.  "I  can't  take  it,  won't  have 
it!  Give  it  to  somebody  else!  Please,  General,  let  me 
explain."  It  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  sincerity. 

"Garfield,"  said  Rosecrans,  humorously,  "send  out  for  a 
photographer.  I  want  Simonson's  picture.  He's  the  first 
man  I've  met  since  the  war  broke  out  that  doesn't  want  an 
office,  or  isn't  jealous  of  his  rank,  or  dissatisfied  with  his 
grade.  Why,  damn  it  all,  Garfield,  even  we  can't  claim 
immunity.  You're  straining  your  hames  for  a  major-gen 
eral's  commission,  and  I'm — why  I'm  trying  to  boss  old 
Stanton,  and  run  the  whole  War  Department."  Both  gen 
erals  laughed  heartily. 

Then,  turning  to  Simonson,  he  kindly  pointed  out  what  he 
conceived  to  be  his  duty. 

"But,  General  Rosecrans,  I'm  not  qualified.    I'm  not  here 


'TWIXT  LOVE  AND  DUTY  373 

for  glory,  and  I  don't  want  a  commission.  I'd  rather  wear 
this  plain  uniform  than  even  the — the  uniform  you  are 
wearing,  sir." 

"And  in  that,  Simonson,  you  show  your  good  sense,"  said 
the  General,  with  a  sigh,  "but — 

"  'Ours  not  to  make  reply, 
Ours  not  to  reason  why, 
Ours  but  to  do  and  die ' 


"and  I  know  you'll  not  fail  me,  or  fall  short  of  your  duty. 
By  the  way,  Captain  Simonson,  I  want  to  become  better 
acquainted  with  you.  Come  and  see  me  often,  that  is — 
if  I  retain  my  command." 

One  afternoon  General  Garfield  came  into  his  chief's  office 
and  said,  "General,  I've  been  asked  to  accept  the  Repub 
lican  nomination  for  Congress  from  the  Ashtabula  district. 
What  ought  I  to  do  ?  Should  I  accept  it  ?  Can  I  honorably 
do  so?" 

Simonson  was  present  and  was  eager  to  hear  the  great 
soldier's  reply. 

"I'm  glad  for  your  sake — and  I  certainly  think  you  can 
accept  with  honor;  and,  what  is  more,  I  deem  it  your  ditty 
to  do  so." 

Rosecrans  said  much  more,  all  to  the  effect  that  strong 
men,  loyal  and  true,  were  greatly  needed  at  home ;  and  that 
not  unfrequently  men  who  might  be  immensely  useful  as 
civilians,  make  very  poor  soldiers,  especially  officers,  in  the 
army.  All  of  which  made  a  very  deep  impression  on  the 
young  lawyer's  mind. 

However,  he  was  beginning  to  like  the  sound  of  Captain 
Samuel  Simonson. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AT    MISSIONARY    RIDGE    AND    LOOKOUT    MOUNTAIN — TAKEN 
PRISONER 

T  OOKOUT  Mountain  and  Missionary  Ridge  are  blood- 
i->  emblazoned  names,  but  the  bitterest  struggle  and  sorest 
defeat  of  those  high  eminences  have  never  been  recorded. 

On  Missionary  Ridge  stood  Jefferson  Davis,  gazing  down 
on  a  land  which  neither  himself  nor  his  followers  would  ever 
possess. 

The  Chieftain  had  come  from  Richmond  for  two  pur 
poses  :  one  most  agreeable ;  the  other  most  disagreeable. 

The  head  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  was  a  trained 
soldier  and  had  desired  to  bo,  not  President,  but  Commander 
of  the  army.  Not  politics,  but  war,  not  statecraft  but  mili 
tary  science,  were  his  great  passions.  Caesar,  rather  than 
Cicero  and  Seneca ;  Charlemagne  and  Napoleon,  rather  than 
the  great  statesmen  who  adorned  their  reigns,  were  his  most 
frequent  themes  of  conversation. 

And  there  were  marvelous  military  possibilities  about  the 
cities  of  Knoxville  and  Chattanooga  ;  Chattanooga  and  Look 
out  Valleys,  Raccoon  arid  Lookout  Mountains,  the  Tennessee 
and  two  Chickamauga  rivers ;  level  plateaus  rimmed  by  pre 
cipitous  heights ;  grain  fields  embroidered  with  deep  chasms 
whose  declivities  were  dense  with  primeval  forests;  a  vast 
variety  of  altitudes  producing  the  most  abrupt  and  diverse 
degrees  of  temperature  and  meteorological  conditions,  now 
suffocatingly  hot,  now  exhilaratingly  cool  and  crystallinely 

374 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE   AND   LOOKOUT    MOUNTAIN    375 

clear ;  one  moment  tempestuous  as  the  fabled  realm  of  Pluto, 
the  next  "calm  as  a  painted  sea." 

Here  were  massing  titanic  forces :  on  one  side  the  armies 
of  the  Cumberland  and  the  Tennessee,  with  mighty  ree'n- 
forcements  from  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  all  under  the 
command  of  Grant,  that  imperturbable  and  relentless  Arch- 
Angel  of  the  Battlefield  who  never  hesitated  to  wade  through 
goriest  slaughter,  however  hideous  and  appalling,  to  the  goal 
of  his  desire;  and  having  as  his  field-marshals  a  group  of 
generals  not  unworthy  of  Napoleon — Sherman,  Sheridan, 
Thomas,  Hooker,  Howard,  Logan;  the  other  side  com 
manded  by — ah,  there  was  the  rub!  And  therefore  Davis 
had  hastened  thither  from  the  Confederate  Capital. 

There  were  jealousies  enough  among  Federal  officers  to 
have  caused  the  defeat  and  damnaticn  of  the  Union  army 
had  they  not  been  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  yet 
fiercer  jealousies  of  the  officers  of  the  Confederacy.  Alas, 
alas !  that  great  and  good  men  like  McClellan,  Halleck,  and 
Rosecrans,  not  to  mention  scores  of  lesser  lights,  should 
have  yielded  to  such  ignoble  passions;  as  did  also  Bragg, 
Beauregard,  Longstreet,  J.  E.  Johnston,  and  many  of  their 
fellow-officers.  Only  two  of  the  great  generals  seem  to  have 
risen  above  the  petty  passions  of  the  green-eyed  monster — 
Grant  and  Lee ;  and  we  now  know  that  even  they  had  their 
profound,  though  usually  justifiable,  likes  and  dislikes. 

There  was  always,  however,  this  difference  between  the 
Northern  and  Southern  wranglers:  the  Northerners  always 
buried  their  animosities  at  the  first  scent  of  peril  to  the  cause ; 
the  Southerners  sternly  carried  theirs  with  them  ever, 
regardless  of  personal  peril,  or  peril  to  their  cause.  Even 
the  hopes  and  horrors  of  Gettysburg  could  not  quell  the 
passionate  jealousy  and  animosity  of  Lee's  greatest  field- 
marshal,  whose  hearty  cooperation  might,  probably  would, 
have  turned  the  tide  of  battle  and  made  Gettysburg  the 


376  AMERICANS  ALL* 

mightiest  and  completest  victory  of  all  history — for  Lee, 
had  he  been  the  victor,  would  not  have  permitted  the  results 
to  slip  through  his  fingers. 

Thus  at  Lookout  Mountain  and  Missionary  Ridge :  while 
Grant  and  Sherman  and  Sheridan  and  Thomas  and  Hooker 
and  Howard  and  Logan,  with  their  seasoned  troops  from 
the  East  and  the  West,  flushed  with  the  victories  of  Vicks- 
burg  and  Gettysburg,  were  moving  with  the  accuracy  and 
precision  of  a  perfectly  constructed,  perfectly  coordinated, 
and  perfectly  operating  mechanism,  Bragg  and  his  partisans, 
and  Longstreet  with  his  partisans,  were  at  swords'  points ; 
and  their  poor  President,  with  all  the  prestige  of  his  great 
name,  acknowledged  genius,  and  exalted  position,  could 
neither  assuage  their  bitterness  nor  effect  even  a  temporary 
truce. 

Nevertheless  it  was  a  wonderful  battle — October  24  and 
25 — amid  glorious  scenery,  and  for  a  pawn  worthy  of  the 
gods ;  and  the  victory  won  was  not  less  strategic  than  that 
at  Vicksburg;  and,  territorially,  was  more  decisive  and 
important  than  even  Gettysburg. 

And  the  victors  exulting  amid  the  splendors  above  the 
clouds,  while  the  heroic  vanquished  were  grimly  retreating 
in  the  gloom  below,  constituted  a  vast  spectacular  drama 
that  was  prophetic  of  an  approaching  victory  and  defeat, 
coronation  and  de-coronation,  that  would  be  final;  for  after 
Vicksburg,  Gettysburg,  and  Chattanooga — Chattanooga,  the 
very  heart  of  the  Southern  Confederacy — there  was  abso 
lutely  no  hope  for  the  Government  at  Richmond. 

Throughout  the  two  days'  battle  Simonson,  at  the  head 
of  Company  K,  was  with  Hooker,  and  there  was  "lovely 
fighting  all  along  the  line." 

Even  to  himself  the  young  lawyer  seemed  to  have  become 
a  new  man.  War,  war,  war — it  was  glorious !  The  noise  of 


battle — it  was  music  to  his  soul.    "The  morn  the  marshalling 
in  arms,  the  day  battle's  magnificently  stern  array" — 

"Hand  to  hand,  and  foot  to  foot; 
Nothing  there,  save  death,  was  mute ; 
Stroke,  and  thrust,  and  flash,  and  cry 
For  quarter,  or  for  victory 
.   .    .    with  the  volleying  thunder.    .    .    ." 

Oh,  it  was  glorious — the  music  of  motion,  the  poetry  of 
passion,  the  high  zest  of  achievement !  Everywhere  action, 
action;  and  always  forward,  forward — so  unlike  limping, 
retreating  Chickamauga — now  forward,  forward,  double- 
quick,  away! 

Instead  of  Rosecrans  and  Wood,  Negley,  McCook  and 
Crittenden  ever  retreating,  now  it  was  Grant  and  Sherman 
and  Sheridan  and  Thomas  and  Hooker  and  Howard  and 
Logan — Logan,  the  genuine  Thalassidrona,  invincible  storm- 
petrel — ever  advancing;  and  Longstreet,  Bragg,  Polk, 
Wheeler  and  Buckner,  and  all  their  hosts,  once  thought  to 
be  invincible,  broken  here,  crushed  there,  demoralized  and 
panic-stricken  at  a  dozen  places  at  once;  yielding  ndw  a 
stand  of  arms,  now  a  park  of  artillery,  and  now  losing  a 
company,  regiment,  entire  brigade ;  here  horseless  riders,  and 
here  riderless  horses,  and  here  headless  horses  and  headless 
men — but  the  phalanx  gray,  on  their  own  soil,  among  their 
own  people,  fighting,  struggling  unto  death,  dying  for  prin 
ciples  dearer  than  their  very  lives,  yet  ever  confronted  by 
overwhelming  forces  which  they  could  never  evade,  or  hood 
wink,  or  deceive — ever  yielding,  falling  back,  retreating. 

The  Federal  brigades,  battalions,  and  army-corps  that  had 
come  up  from  New  Orleans  and  Vicksburg,  and  down  from 
Gettysburg,  Henry,  Donelson,  Corinth,  and  Shiloh,  were  so 
intoxicated  with  the  wine  of  victorious  patriotism  their  eyes 
fairly  gleamed,  as  though  the  Goddess  of  War  had  kissed 


378  AMERICANS  ALD 

their  orbs  of  vision  and  endowed  them  with  double  sight — 
till  they  could  see  those  things  which  to  mortals  are  sup 
posed  to  be  invisible.  Especially  was  this  the  case  as 
"Fighting  Joe  Hooker"  and  his  dauntless  host  scaled  a  ladder 
of  stars  and  clutched  an  immortal  victory  above  the  clouds — 
Old  Glory  victorious,  sometimes  swathed  in  myriad-colored 
mists  and  vapor,  sometimes  dancing  high  above  the  clouds ; 
but  always  jubilant  beneath  the  benediction  of  the  skies. 

"And  as  they  gazed  there  crept  an  awe 
Through  the  ranks  in  whispers ;  and  some  men  saw, 
In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 
The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there — " 

such  is  the  superstition  of  war. 

Nor  was  Simonson  with  all  his  Cambridge  culture  and 
legal  lore,  exempt  from  superstitious  suggestion  and  inter 
pretation. 

He  found  himself  thinking  of  Vergie — ah!  Vergie  was 
the  perfect  epitome  and  throbbing  incarnation  of  the  War- 
Idea  ;  and  he  was,  or  was  resolved  to  be,  in  love  with  her. 
Ah,  yes;  stately,  queenly,  imperial  Vergie.  She  was  like 
Cleopatra — only  purer ;  like  Jeanne  d'Arc — only  saner ;  like 
the  Russian  Anne  and  Elizabeth — only  gentler ;  like  Hypatia 
— only  with  more  poetry  and  passion  in  her  nature ;  like  the 
Medicean  Princess,  the  dazzling  but  deadly  Florentine  coca- 
trice,  basalisk — only  all-sweet,  all-good,  all-desirable,  ador 
able  !  Yes ;  it  was  perfectly  plain  now ;  he  loved  war  because 
he  loved  Vergie  Culpepper.  He  had  absorbed  her  martial 
nature  as  she  had  yielded  herself  to  his  breast — offered  him 
the  nectar  of  her  lips — else  he,  book-lover  and  disciple  of 
Justinian,  would  not  be  so  enamored  of  the  glorious  pomp 
and  panoply  of  war. 

He  found  himself  wishing  Vergie  might  see  him  teading 
Company  K  up  the  grim  and  sworded  and  cannon-frowning 
rampart,  claiming  victory  and  achieving  it,  and — defying 


MISSIONARY   BIDGE  AND  LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN 

death !  How  proud  she  would  be  of  him  then — and  he  could 
see  her  great  eyes  flash,  her  darkly  rich  complexion  taking 
on  a  ruddier  hue,  and  hear  her  deep  musical  voice  praising1 
him  as  the  deep-chested,  strong-souled  maiden  in  the  Ger 
man  forest  used  to  welcome  and  praise  her  lover  who  had 
done  battle-royal  against  the  hated  Roman  legions. 

Ah,  yes ;  and  how  he  would  cheer  her  were  he  to  see  her 
ride  forth,  radiant  with  all  her  wonderful  beauty,  at  the  head 
of  an  all-conquering  host  to  victory — a  victory  that  could  not 
be  gainsaid  if  she  led  the  way. 

Expiation!  Ah,  yes,  he  had  sinned  against  her,  against 
her  loving  trust  in  him,  but  now  he  was  expiating1  his  sin. 
Zohanozoheton  herself  would  have  confessed  that  he  was 
no  poltroon — that  even  in  point  of  Indian-like  bravery  he 
was  a  manly  man.  And  was  he  not  defying  death,  and 
suffering  privation  and  exposure,  and  enduring  unspeakable 
fatigue  on  her  account  ?  But  for  her — her  look,  her  rebuke, 
her  open  taunt — he  would  not  have  gone  to  war.  And  some 
day  he  would  tell  her  so ;  and  she,  with  a  great  love  shining 
in  her  eyes,  would  say,  "You  poor  boy,"  and  blame  herself 
for  everything  and,  in  her  own  all-satisfying  way,  make 
reparation  to  him. 

"Ah,  yes,  war  is  glorious" — he  had  become  separated  from 
his  command,  but  following  Napoleon's  advice  to  his  gen 
erals:  "Always  march  in  the  direction  of  the  heaviest 
firing,"  and  having  only  Company  K  with  him,  was  trying 
to  make  his  way  back  again. 

After  losing  considerable  time  he  finally  emerged  from  a 
forest  of  tangled  woods  and  thicket  only  to  find  himself 
confronted  by  a  whole  brigade  of  Wheeler's  cavalry.  Escape 
was  impossible.  Fight  would  have  been  futile,  and  flight 
would  have  meant  instant  death.  It  was  all  most  inglorious, 
pitiful,  heart-breaking — they  were  prisoners  of  war. 

And  under  such  conditions !    If  the  Union  army  had  been 


380  AMERICANS  ALL 

defeated ;  if  Grant  and  his  legions  had  been  driven  like  chaff 
before  the  tempest  of  Confederate  valor  and  fury;  had  he 
been  wounded  and  helpless,  or  better  still,  had  he  been 
roughly  laid  hold  upon  and  borne  away  a  prisoner  while  yet 
unconscious;  or  had  he  been  taken  only  after  a  furious 
hand-to-hand  struggle,  Homeric,  in  which  some  lives  had 
been  lost — but  no.  As  it  was — how  stupid,  asinine,  vulgar! 
Like  a  bevy  of  elderly  ladies  going  to  a  fashionable  after 
noon  function,  gently,  quietly,  orderly,  so  they  had  daintily 
stepped  into  the  enemy's  boudoir  and  been  waited  on!  And 
less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  he  could  hear  the  shouts 
of  his  victorious  comrades. 

Without  ceremony  Simonson  and  his  comrades  were  dis 
armed  and  hustled  to  the  rear.  That  night,  in  sight  and 
sound  of  the  boys  of  the  Cumberland,  the  Tennessee,  and 
the  Potomac,  holding  high  revel  and  carnival  over  their 
utter  defeat  of  the  Armies  of  the  Confederacy,  the  young 
captain  was  marched  away,  under  a  heavy  guard,  to  Rich 
mond,  and  to  — Libby  Prison. 

It  was  a  long  journey,  and  the  conditions  and  accommoda 
tions  were  by  no  means  ideal.  His  captors  were  neither 
unkind,  nor  exactly  given  to  those  little  pleasantries  and 
amenities  with  which  the  host  usually  delights  to  charm  and 
entertain  the  guest.  Matters  were  going  wrong  with  their 
beloved  Confederacy ;  food  and  raiment  were  scarce ;  their 
money  was  worthless — what  wonder  his  captors  were 
morose  ? 

Much  of  the  journey  had  to  be  made  afoot,  or  in  rough 
wagons  impressed  from  the  local  citizenry.  Many  of  the 
great  railroads  now  connecting  Richmond  with  Tennessee, 
Georgia,  and  the  Carolinas,  were  not  then  built;  and  much 
of  the  existing  lines,  including  bridges,  engines,  and  other 
rolling  stock,  was  destroyed  that  they  might  not  be  of  serv 
ice  to  Federal  or  Confederate  enemy;  and  as  they  traveled 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE   AND   LOOKOUT  MOUNTAIN    381 

in  the  zone  of  active  military  operations  there  were  but  few 
wagons  or  horses  to  impress. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Simonson  was  not  in  a  jubi 
lant  frame  of  mind,  as  he  had  been  at  Chickamauga  and 
Missionary  Ridge ;  it  is  so  much  easier  to  fight  as  a  soldier 
than  to  march  as  a  captive,  to  do  than  to  suffer.  Nor  was 
he  now  en  rapport  with  Nature  as  he  had  been  when  meeting 
Vergie  at  the  buckthorn  tree,  and  taking  long  rides  and 
rambles  about  New  Richmond,  else  this  might  have  been 
an  exceedingly  interesting  journey. 

It  was  autumn,  and  Nature  was  at  her  best.  The  swamps 
were  odorous  with  white  and  yellow  pine,  cypress,  and  all 
manner  of  semi-tropic  trees  and  shrubs.  The  uplands  were 
prodigal  with  giant  black  oak,  red  oak,  buttonwood,  hickory, 
walnut,  cherry,  mulberry  and  crimson  and  golden  maples. 
Everywhere  were  clusters  of  redberries,  blueberries,  scarlet- 
berries,  and  flowers  of  every  hue  and  perfume — roses  and 
tulips  and  judases  and  japonicas;  for  Nature's  revels  and 
festivals  of  color  and  odor  ever  go  on  the  same  whether  men 
wake  to  midnight  sound  of  strife,  or  "jocund  drive  their 
teams  afield."  The  sumac  flaunted  her  crimson  banner  as 
gloriously  as  though  in  all  the  land  there  was  neither  war 
nor  rumor  of  war. 

But  none  of  these  things  gladdened  the  heart  of  Simon- 
son,  now  no  longer  a  hero  but  a  prisoner,  no  longer  en 
route  to  fame  and  glory  and  the  warm  smiles  and  tender 
embraces  of  a  beautiful  woman,  but  a-march,  felon-like,  to 
a  taunting  sentry,  and  a  revolting  cell  or  prison  yard. 

Not  even  skulking  black  bears,  howling  wolves,  scream 
ing  wildcats,  billowy  rabbits,  saucy  barking  squirrels,  the 
whisking  fox,  or  Mercury-like  deer  bounding  away  as  though 
a-wing  at  hip  and  ankle,  could  arouse  him  from  his  deep 
dejection. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  that  Simonson  was  really  unheroic, 


382  AMERICANS  ALL 

for  that  would  be  doing  him  a  grave  injustice.  He  was  dis 
couraged,  but  even  the  greatest  sometimes  have  their  sea 
sons  of  depression.  But  he  was  weak  and  very  much 
exhausted,  a  condition  he  had  not  observed  amid  the  wild 
excitement  prevalent  in  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  from 
Chickamauga  to  Missionary  Ridge.  Had  he  consulted  pru 
dence  instead  of  a  very  mad  and  unhappy  impulse  he  would 
riot  have  gone  to  war,  at  least  before  he  had  recovered  his 
strength — least  of  all,  plunged  into  such  a  mad  vortex  of 
excitement  and  almost  superhuman  endeavor  as  marked  the 
Chickamauga-Chattanooga  campaign. 

As  a  result  of  all  these  imprudences  he  finally  fell  ill, 
though  at  first  not  seriously.  However,  before  reaching 
Weldon,  South  Carolina,  Col.  Thomas  E.  Rose,  of  the  77th 
Pennsylvania  Volunteers,  a  fellow-captive,  informed  the 
commanding  officer  that  Captain  Simonson  needed  medical 
attention ;  but  the  young  lawyer  made  light  of  his  condition, 
and  as  Colonel  Rose  soon  after  made  his  escape  nothing 
came  of  it.  Nevertheless  he  gradually  grew  worse  and, 
although  now  receiving  every  possible  attention,  presently 
developed  a  high  fever  and  symptoms  of  both  typhoid  and 
pneumonia.  Fortunately  .by  this  time  they  had  reached  Dan 
ville  and  were  able  to  take  him  the  rest  of  the  way  by  rail,  a 
ride  of  only  a  few  hours.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  young 
lawyer,  upon  his  arrival  at  Richmond,  was  taken  directly  to 
the  Libby  Prison  Hospital. 

The  skilled  physicians  in  attendance  easily  diagnosed  his 
case — brain  fever  with  malaria,  aggravated  by  exposure  and 
over-exertion.  His  condition  was  not  thought  to  be  serious. 
Young,  not  dissipated,  bronzed  by  outdoor  life — of  course 
he  would  soon  recover. 

Of  medicine  they  had  but  little.  The  blockade  of  the 
Confederacy  now  was  complete  and  the  Government  at 
Washington  had  declared  all  medicines  "contraband."  No1, 


MISSIONAEY   EIDGE   AND   LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN    333 

even  for  the  healing,  or  allaying  of  the  sufferings  of  Union 
prisoners  would  the  Federal  authorities  permit  any  medicine 
whatsoever  to  enter  the  Confederacy. 

"The  poor  fellow  ought  to  have  some  aconite  or  bella 
donna,"  the  doctors  said,  "but  his  own  government  for 
bids  them.  We've  repeatedly  offered  the  Lincoln  Govern 
ment  the  medicines'  weight  in  gold  and  the  unrestricted 
liberty  and  privilege  here  of  Federal  physicians  and  surgeons 
to  come  and  go  at  will,  and  minister  with  their  own  hands 
solely  to  their  own  sick  and  wounded  Federal  soldiers,  but 
our  offers  have  been  persistently  spurned." 

This  was  early  in  the  evening.  Toward  midnight  Simon- 
son  grew  seriously  worse,  talking  incoherently  and  disturb 
ing  the  other  patients.  One  of  them,  asleep  when  Simonson 
was  brought  in,  now  awoke.  Something  about  the  delirious 
patient — some  accent,  pronunciation,  or  peculiar  rhythm  of 
speech — arrested  his  attention. 

"I  say,  Sister,"  addressing  a  sweet-faced,  low-voiced 
daughter  of  the  church,  "who  is  the  new  arrival?" 

"I  don't  know,  Harold.  He  was  brought  in  several  hours 
ago.  Have  you  rested  well  ?  You've  had  a  nice  long  sleep." 

"Yes,  Sister,  thanks  to  you  and  the  delicious  gruel  you 
brought  me ;  but  tell  me — who  is  the  poor  devil  over  there  ? 
Seems  to  me  I  recognize  his  voice." 

"Won't  you  have  some  more  of  the  gruel?  I  can  warm 
it  for  you  in  just  a  minute.  Maybe  then  you'll  go  to  sleep 
again. 

"Sister  Angela,  you're  just  like  Mother.  Are  all  women 
alike?  When  I  say,  'Mother,  please  let  me  have  another 
piece  of  mince  pie/  she's  sure  to  say,  'Oh,  how  delicious  this 
cup  custard  is !  Won't  you  have  some,  dear?'  Or  if  I  want 
more  fried  oysters  she's  sure  to  go  into  ecstacies  over  egg 
plant.  Now,  Sister  Angela,  who's  that  fellow  over  there 
that's  calling  for — for — Saint  Peter,  I  reckon  ?" 


384  AMERICANS  ALL 

The  gentle  Sister  smiled.  She  liked  her  pale-faced,  impul 
sive  patient.  He  reminded  her  of  her  only  brother,  a  brave 
and  gentle  lad,  who  was  killed  at  Antietam,  fighting  under 
the  standard  of  Davis  and  Lee. 

"Say,  Sister,"  her  patient  continued,  "won't  you  please  ask 
the — the  rooster  that — I  mean  the  clerk  of  this  tavern?  He'll 
know." 

"Yes,  Harold;  but  I  don't  know  but  it's  against  the 
rules." 

"Oh,  shoot  the  rules !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sister.  I  didn't 
mean  to  say  that.  But  he'll  tell  you.  /  couldn't  refuse  you 
anything." 

A  moment  later  the  Sister  returned  and  took  her  seat, 
a  sweetly  quizzical  smile  parting  her  lips. 

"Well  ?  Are  you  going  to  play  mother  on  me  some  more  ? 
Ask  me  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  know  who  did  kill  Jack  the 
Giant-Killer?" 

"No,  Harold,  I  won't  tease  you  any  more.  His  name  is 
Samuel  Simonson." 

"The  hell  you  say !  Oh,  I  do  beg  your  pardon,  Sister,  a 
thousand  times.  But  my  blessed  old  Rebel  father,  everybody 
calls  him  'Quoth  Horace,'  says  it  so  often — don't  mean  any 
thing  at  all  by  it — that  somehow  I've  got  into  the  habit 
myself.  But  say,  Sister,  can't  you  find  out  who  he  is?  I 
used  to  know  a  chap  by  that  name  'way  back  in  God's  own 
country — that's  up  North,  you  know." 

"But  please,  Harold — you're  exciting  yourself.  Won't 
you,  please,  go  to  sleep  now  ?  I'd  give  you  a  sleeping  powder 
if  I  had  one." 

"There  you  go  again — just  like  Mother.  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do:  when  you  find  out  for  me  all  about  my  poor  suffer 
ing  comrade  over  there,  then  I'll  go  to  sleep,  honest,  cross 
my  heart,  hope  to  drop  dead  this  minute,  mena,  mena,  mina, 
moke — you're  it!  Now  then,  Sis " 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE   AND   LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN    335 

But  the  sentence  was  not  completed.  The  stranger  sud 
denly  raised  himself  on  the  couch  to  a  sitting  posture  and, 
stretching  forth  both  arms,  exclaimed,  "Vergie,  Vergie,  you 
know  that  I  love  you.  Why  do  you  still  hate  me  so? 
Verg " 

Instantly  Harold  Culpepper  was  off  his  cot  and  at  the 
other  cot  in  time  to  catch  "Sammy"  as  he  was  falling. 

"Simonson,  old  man,  don't  you  know  me?" 

The  familiar  greeting,  so  warm  and  genuine,  for  the 
moment  arrested  his  attention  and  he  looked  up  eagerly. 

"Seems  I  ought  to  know  you,"  he  groaned,  his  mind  again 
drifting  away.  "Do  you  know  where  Vergie  is  ?  She  hates 
me,  and  I  want — want — her  to " 

"No,  Vergie  doesn't  hate  you,  old  boy.  Vergie's  my 
sister,  and  I  know  she  thinks  heaps  and  heaps  of  you." 

Sister  Angela  had  now  approached,  and  was  trying  to 
persuade  her  patient  to  return  to  his  cot. 

"Who — who's  that  ?"  again  the  querulous  voice  was  speak 
ing.  "T— that's  Marjorie,  isn't  it?  Har'ld's  Marj'ry— but 
I  w — ant  Vergie — was  fight — f'r " 

At  last  Simonson  was  quieted,  and  presently  fell  asleep. 
Harold,  however,  was  wide-eyed.  An  hour  later  he  said  in 
a  low  voice,  "Sister  Angela,  you  see  I  just  can't  sleep.  May 
I  talk  to  you  a  little  bit  if  I  whisper  ever  and  ever  so  low  ?" 

"Only  if  it's  for  the  good  of  your  soul,  Harold.  We  are 
not  permited  to  indulge  in  frivolous  conversation." 

"I  qualify!"  he  whispered,  smiling.  "What  I  have  to  say 
is  for  the  good  of  my  soul — plus!" 

The  Sister  bent  low  to  listen.  It  must  have  been  a  story 
with  a  grip,  a  world  of  human  interest,  for  the  pious  saint 
listened  intently.  It  was  all  about  Simonson :  what  a  "poor 
devil"  he  was,  but  a  "cracking  good  fellow;"  born  of  the 
"oneryest"  parents,  but  himself  "all  wool,  a  yard  wide,  war 
ranted  not  to  shine  or  shrink  or  fade  and  not  a  yellow  thread 


386  AMERICANS  ALL 

in  warp  or  woof;  gentle  as  a  babe,  but  brave  as  a  lion  and 
could  "whip  his  weight  in  wild  cats;"  tenacious  as  Fate  to 
what  he  thought  was  right,  but  genial  toward  everybody  as 
sunshine — and  unselfish  as.  dew  and  rain ;  modest  as  a  girl, 
but  gifted  as  Daniel  Webster;  for  the  Union  "teeth  and 
toe-nails,"  but  "so  white  and  honor-bright"  that  even  the 
New  Richmond  Rebels  liked  him;  how  that  he  knew  his 
sister  Vergie  liked  him  and  was  only  afraid  that  he,  Simon- 
son,  wasn't  going  to  take  a  "shine"  to  her — and  on  and  on. 

"Sister  Angela,  what  I  can't  understand  is,  what's  come 
between  my  sister  and  Simonson ;  and  why  this  afternoon 
she  didn't  mention  Simonson's  going  to  the  War.  Of  course, 
I  was  all  knocked  out  when  she  showed  up  here  so  unex 
pectedly — Oh,  yes,  it  was  yesterday  afternoon  now.  What 
the  dickens  do  you  suppose  Vergie's  doing  down  here  any 
way?  But  Lord!  Didn't  she  show  her  fangs  and  raise  her 
bristles  when  I  casually  mentioned  Simonson?  Something's 
wrong,  and  it's  on  Vergie's  side  of  the  house,  too.  I'll  tell 
you,  Sister,  if  Simonson  wants  Vergie  he's  got  her  brother's 
consent  now.  Another  thing,  Sister  Angela:  Vergie's  got 
to  come  here  and  take  care  of  Simonson." 

"But  Harold,  she  wouldn't  be  permitted  to " 

"Why  not?  She's  as  big  a  Rebel  as  any  of  you.  And  His 
Royal  Highness  down  at  Brockenborough  Castle,  Twelfth 
and  Clay,  is  Vergie's  Unk !  Do  you  think  His  Royal  Nibs'll 
go  back  on  his  own  kinfolks  ?  And  ain't  he  the  Boss  of  this 
Job,  and  the  Ruler  of  the  Ranch  besides?" 

Sister  Angela  was  amused  at  her  patient's  positiveness, 
and  impatience  with  what  he  termed  "red  tape." 

"But,  Harold,"  with  a  slight  twitching  at  the  corners  of 
her  lips,  "haven't  you  gone  back  on  your  kinfolks  just  a  wee 
bit,  even  on  'His  Royal  Nibs?'"  now  laughing. 

"Oh,  hel — hade — dad-gum — holy  jumping  Jupiter !  There, 
Sister,  I  came  awfully  near  saying  it  again,  but  didn't.  Don't 


MISSIONARY   RIDGE   AND   LOOKOUT   MOUNTAIN    337 

you  think  I'm  in  a  state  of  grace?  Oh,  yes — well,  so  far  as 
Uncle  Jeffey  and  I  are  concerned  we  don't  trot  in  the  same 
harness,  as  I  guess  you'uns,"  whimsically  dropping  into  the 
dialect  of  the  street,  "will  find  out  if  you  live  long  enough." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

VERGIE    CULPEPPER    IN    RICHMOND — MEETS    THE    YOUNG 
LAWYER 

NO  statesman  ever  surpassed  Mr.  Davis  in  sincerity,  not 
even  Mr.  Lincoln ;  and,  of  course,  Mr.  Lincoln  was  the 
great  Mississippian's  inferior  in  technical  scholarship,  mili 
tary  training  and  experience,  and  the  knowledge  that  comes 
from  long  service  in  Congress  and  President's  cabinet  and 
the  resultant  intercourse  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
most  gifted,  cultured,  and  forceful  men  in  all  walks  of  life. 

Mr.  Lincoln  was  victor  not  because  his  was  the  more 
exalted  character,  or  because  he  was  the  sincerer  or  more 
learned  man,  but  because,  untouched  by  a  waning  feudal 
system  nor  being  interested  therein,  he  had,  on  that  one 
matter,  the  more  accurate  ethical  instinct  and  the  keener 
prophetic  vision ;  and  the  Union  Army  triumphed  not  be 
cause  it  was  favored  by  Providence — Providence  has  a 
shrewd  way  of  always  siding  in  with  the  strongest  battalions 
and  the  expertest  generals — or  because  the  Confederate 
Army  was  accursed  of  God,  but  because  it  was  better  armed, 
clothed,  and  fed  than  the  Confederate  Army  and  outnum 
bered  the  Confederate  Army  two  to  one,  and  once,  as  Mr. 
Lincoln  pointed  out  to  McClellan,  three  to  one. 

On  the  other  hand,  Davis  was  not  Lincoln's  equal  in  diplo 
macy.  He  also  lacked  Lincoln's  salving  and  resilient  humor ; 
and  though  capable  of  winning  and  retaining  the  intensest 
friendships — witness  Lee's  and  Benjamin's  and  Albert  Sid 
ney  Johnston's  and  Stonewall  Jackson's  devotion  to  Davis — 

388 


VERGIE  CULPEPPEB  IN  EICHMONE  389 

he  was  by  nature  incapable  of  utilizing  the  lure  of  heart- 
grappling  camaraderie,  a  gift  so  richly  possessed  by  Jackson, 
Clay,  Lincoln  and,  later  on,  by  Elaine,  Garfield,  Cleveland 
and  McKinley. 

Mr.  Davis  was  intensely  religious,  almost  to  asceticism ; 
was  a  great  student  with  much  of  the  taste  and  inclination 
of  the  recluse;  was  by  heredity  and  social  connection  an 
aristocrat  and  cavalier  of  the  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  the 
Younger  Disraeli  types  whom,  in  social  bearing,  he  greatly 
resembled;  and  was  a  sore  victim  of  chronic  neuralgia — 
rheumatism  of  the  nerves — which  was  greatly  aggravated 
by  his  seven  years'  arduous  service  in  the  Federal  Army  in 
Northern  Missouri,  Northern  Illinois,  Iowa,  Wisconsin,  and 
Minnesota.  Then,  too,  the  wound  he  received  at  the  battle 
of  Buena  Vista,  performing  one  of  the  most  heroic  acts  in 
the  annals  of  American  warfare,  never  entirely  healed,  and 
sorely  troubled  him  to  the  last. 

During  the  awful  '6i-'65  quadrennium  there  were  whole 
weeks  when  Mr.  Davis  was  constantly  confined  to  his  bed, 
all  knowledge  of  which  was  carefully  kept  from  the  public ; 
and  during  those  periods,  tried  as  few  men  are  tried,  and 
periled  by  a  downfall  and  obloquy  such  as  few  men  ever 
faced,  he  himself  confessed  to,  and  deeply  deplored,  an 
irascibility  of  temper  that  sometimes  mastered  him. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  periods  of  excruciating  pain 
that  Mr.  James  Perry,  his  private  secretary,  informed  him 
that  a  young  lady,  claiming  to  be  a  kinsman,  desired  to 
have  an  interview,  and  refused  to  be  dismissed  till  her  request 
was  granted. 

"A  woman?  Oh,  these  women !  Tell  Varina  that  she  must 
see  her." 

"Mrs.  Davis  and  the  children  are  out,  Mr.  President." 

"Sure  enough.  Oh,  to  have  Stephens,  Brown,  Vance, 
Seaton,  Hunter,  Rhett,  Pryor,  Toombs,  Yancey,  Pollard, 


390  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  Confederate  Congress,  and  a  score  of  quarrelsome  gen 
erals  on  one's  hands  is  sufficient  to  run  one  crazy — and  now 
a  woman!  And  yet,"  reflecting  a  moment,  "no  gentleman 
can  deny  a  lady's  request.  What's  her  name,  Perry  ?" 

"Here's  her  card,  Mr.  President.    Miss  Virginia  Lee " 

"Ah,  Perry,  that  sounds  good.  God  bless  the  mothers ! 
And  how  sacred  and  suggestive  the  names  they  give  their 
babies!  No  one  could  question  the  loyalty  of  this  girl's 
mother — Virginia.  Lee?  Did  you  say — Lee?  Wonder  if 
she's  a  relative  of  our  Robert?"  looking  up  into  the  face  of 
his  private  secretary. 

"Mr.  President,  you  didn't  give  me  time  to  read  the  entire 
name.  It's  Virginia  Lee  Culpepper,  New  Richmond, 
Illinois." 

Instantly  the  President  was  wrathful.  "Oh,  h — "  He 
didn't  complete  the  expletive.  "Perry,  a  good  big  round  fat 
juicy  red-hot  oath  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  men  some 
times.  If  Bishop  Johns  would  grant  me  a  dispensation  to 
swear  occasionally,  and  could  qualify  as  to  his  authority  to 
do  so,  I  think  it  would  immensely  improve  my  health ;  or  if  I 
could  appoint  Toombs  Cnsser-General!  He's  such  an  artist 
in  the  use  of  profanity,  and  exercises  his  gift  with  such  a 
relish,  such  an  enthusiasm." 

"But,  Mr.  President,  who  is  this  beautiful  young  lady?" 
"Perry,  all  women  are  beautiful,  and  most  of  them  are 
fools.  Who  is  she?  Charlotte  Culpepper's  daughter — that 
cousin  of  mine  in  Southern  Illinois  with  whom  I  once  com 
mitted  the  amazing  indiscretion  of  carrying  on  a  correspond 
ence.  Son,  never  write  to  a  woman.  She'll  show  your  let 
ters — can't  help  it ;  or  lose,  or  misplace,  them ;  or  misdirect 
her's  to  you.  And  she  has  no  receptacle  for  secrets,  as  our 
congressmen  have  learned  to  my  sorrow,  and  to  their 
chagrin.  Why,  Perry,  one  can't  kiss  a  pretty  woman  but — 


VERGIE  CULPEPPER  IN  RICHMOND  391 

well,  she  just  must  blab!"  Then,  wearily:  "Oh,  show  her 
in.  Tell  her  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  her." 

A  moment  later  Vergie  was  admitted. 

"Ah,  Miss  Culpepper,"  all  trace  of  illness  and  irritation 
now  gone,  "I  believe  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  had  the 
honor  of  meeting  you,"  taking  her  hand.  "Pray  be  seated. 
I  trust  your  precious  mother,  my  cousin  beloved,  is  well,  and 
that " 

"Mr.  President,  Mama  is  dead." 

The  President  had  not  observed  her  extreme  pallor,  and 
that  she  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 

"Dead?  Cousin  Charlotte  dead?  This  is,  indeed,  most 
sorrowful  intelligence.  Pray  tell  me  about  it.  Why  was  I 
not  informed  sooner?" 

Vergie's  eyes  filled  with  tears  which  she  bravely,  but  un 
successfully,  strove  to  conceal.  Calming  herself  as  soon  as 
possible  she  related  everything  to  her  famous  kinsman ;  her 
mother's  long  illness ;  her  great  sufferings ;  and,  at  the  last, 
her  beautiful  resignation  to  the  inevitable.  The  President 
was  deeply  moved,  not  only  by  her  narrative,  but  also  by 
her  quiet  dignity,  elevation  of  soul,  and  unmistakable  sorrow. 
After  expressing  his  sympathy,  in  language  and  manner 
leaving-  nothing  to  be  desired  because  nothing  was  lacking, 
hr  said : 

"And  your  father  ?  Tell  me  about  our  dear  Quoth  Horace. 
I  trust  he's  as  well  as  could  be  expected,  considering  the 
irreparable  loss  he  has  sustained." 

V«ry  quietly  Vergie  responded,  but  with  no  lack  of 
.enthusiasm,  telling  of  her  father's  loyalty  to  the  "Cause,"  his 
open  hostility  to  the  Lincoln  regime,  and  the  persecutions 
he  had  suffered. 

"But,  Cousin  Virginia " 

"Call  me  'Vergie.'  please.    It's  shorter  and  I  like  it  better. 


392  AMERICANS  ALL 

'Twas  Mama  who  was  your  cousin ;  and  I'm  not  worthy  to 
take  her  place." 

There  was  no  pretence  in  her  voice  or  manner,  and  the 
President  said  to  himself,  "Blood  will  tell." 

"Besides,"  she  added  with  a  wan  smile,  "I'm  not  worthy 
of  being  your  cousin.  Some  day  I  may  become  so;  then  I 
shall  request  the  honor  of  being  so  addressed." 

The  President  gave  her  a  quick  look,  but  made  no  reply. 

"I  was  about  to  say,  Vergie,  that  you've  not  told  me 
everything  you  and  your  father  have  suffered  for  my  sake, 
and  for  the  sake  of  our  Cause.  Tell  me,  please,  about  the 
mob.  You  see,  we  occasionally  get  the  Northern  papers." 

Again  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  her  face  crimsoned. 
"Oh,  the  shame  of  it,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Does  everybody 
know  about  that,  too  ?" 

Nevertheless,  she  nerved  herself  for  the  ordeal  and, 
strengthened  and  comforted  by  the  President's  sympathiz 
ing  countenance,  related  all  the  circumstances  of  the  outrage. 

"And  now,  Vergie,  that  big  fine  brother  of  your's!  Do 
you  know  I've  always  felt  a  little  miffed  at  Cousin  Char 
lotte  because  she  didn't  name  him  for  me  ? — Jefferson  instead 
of  Harold.  However, 

'What's  in  a  name  ?  that  which  we  call  a  rose, 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet.' 
"I  doubt  not  he's  giving  a  good  account  of  himself  these 
troublous  times.    Let's  see,  Harold's  now  twenty-five?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  President." 

"And  a  brave  soldier,  of  course?" 

"Yes" — very  faintly. 

"An  officer,  I  presume  ?  It  would  be  impossible  to  keep  a 
Culpepper  in  the  ranks." 

"No,  Mr.  President,"  now  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  "my 
brother  is  just  a  private  soldier."  She  had  forgotten  that 
he  was  a  Major  in  the  Union  army. 


VERGIE  CULPEPPER  IN  RKJHMONL  393 

"I'm  astonished!  Charlotte's  son  a  private?  Culpepper 
talent  going  to  waste.  I'll  attend  to  that  tomorrow.  If 
Lincoln  can  make  Frank  Blair,  a  man  who  never  fired  a 
gun,  or  belonged  to  a  college  cadet-corps,  or  trained  a  day  in 
the  militia,  a  full-fledged  general;  and  exacting  stubborn- 
headed  Grant  will  accept  raw  material  for  a  staff  officer,  I 
guess  I  can  do  something  for  Charlotte's  son.  Tomorrow 
he'll  put  on  a  Brigadier-General's  uniform,  and  take  his 
place  on  Bobby  Lee's  staff." 

"But,  Mr.  President "  Vergie  was  greatly  distressed. 

She  had  come  to  tell  the  President  about  her  brother,  and 
to  beg  for  his  pardon ;  and,  failing  in  that,  to  obtain  permis 
sion  to  nurse  him  through  his  illness,  but  hadn't  expected 
the  conversation  to  take  such  a  turn.  Astonished  at  her 
agitation,  and  divining  its  only  conceivable  significance,  at 
least  from  a  man's  standpoint,  the  President  said,  "Is  Harold 
sick?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  President,"  she  exclaimed,  seeing  herself 
helpless  to  shape  the  conversation,  or  to  choose  the  manner 
of  making  the  revelation  that  could  not  be  other  than  very 
shocking  to  the  President,  "my  brother  Harold  is  very  sick ; 
and  I  want  you  to  grant  me  permission  to  nurse  him  back 
to  health,"  the  latter  an  afterthought.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
Harold  was  not  very  sick,  though  at  the  time  it  seemed  to 
her  he  was. 

"Where  is  your  brother,  Vergie  ?    In  the  hospital  ?" 

"Y-yes,  Mr.  President." 

"Saint  Mary's?" 

"N-no,  Mr.  President.    Not  there." 

"Where,  then?  Was  he  in  the  Army  of  Northern  Vir 
ginia  ?  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  President,"  no  longer  able  to  keep  back  the 
terrible  truth,  "my  brother  went — w-went  wrong.  It  wasn't 
our  fault,  indeed  it  wasn't.  Papa  hasn't  been  the  same  since 


394  AMEEICAXS  ALL 

it  happened ;  and  it  k-killed  poor  Mama.  And  I'm  so  sorry, 
too !  Nor  was  it  Brother's  fault  altogether — he  was  over- 
persuaded.  You  know  how  men  do.  They  got  around 
Brother  and  made  him  believe  that  black's  white,  and  that 
white's  black,  and  that  y-you  were  a  f -fiend,  and  that  to  be  a 
Rebel  was  worse  than  to  be  a  horse  thief ;  and  then  he  had  a 
g-girl  named  Marjorie,  and — and  she  turned  Union,  and 
s-so,  of  course " 

"That  will  do,  Vergie.  'Of  course'  is  a  fitting  close  for  all 
conversations,  arguments,  dialogues,  debates,  and  orations 
on  women.  When  woman  comes  in,  reason  always  goes  out. 
If  I  could  smuggle  our  Southern  girls  over  into  the  Union 
army,  and  keep  them  there  twenty-four  hours,  they'd  lead 
every  bald-headed  and  woolly-headed  Unionist  right  over 
into  the  Confederate  camp." 

"And  how  if  that  old  ogre  at  Washington  were  to  smuggle 
our  Northern  girls  over  into  your  army  ?"  dashing  the  tears 
from  her  eyes  and  looking  up,  saucily,  into  the  President's 
face. 

"If  you  are  a  fair  sample  of  the  Northern  girls  I'd  advise 
that  old  'ogre'  you  mention  to  quit  drafting  men  and  go  to 
drafting  girls.  But  say  nothing  about  this ;  for  if  Lincoln 
were  to  do  that  Lee  and  the  other  generals  might  just  as 
well  surrender  at  once,  for  not  a  man-jack  could,  or  would, 
try  to  resist  the  girls. 

"But  now,  Miss  Vergie,"  more  seriously,  "where  is  this 
renegade  brother  of  your's,  this  real,  for-sure  Rebel.  To 
think  that  one  of  our  family  should  become  a  Rebel!  Why, 
it's  an  everlasting  disgrace." 

Vergie  glanced  up  quickly,  but  saw  the  President  was 
only  indulging  in  a  bit  of  pleasantry.  "Nevertheless,  Mr. 
President,"  she  spoke  up  loyally,  "he's  the  finest  brother  in 
the  world,  and  I  want  your  permission  to  go  and  take  care 
of  him." 


VERGIE  CULPEPPER  IN  RICHMOND  395 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  yet  where  he  is." 

"Right  here  in  Richmond,  Mr.  President.  In  fact,  just 
now  he's  your  nearest  neighbor,  and  you've  not  been  very 
sociable." 

"Harold  Culpepper,  Charlotte's  Harold,  in  Libby  Prison? 
And  I  not  know  it  ?  My  God !" 

"Truth  is,  Mr.  President,  Brother's  very  modest,  and's 
here  strictly  incog.  He  really  doesn't  wish  to  be  lionised, 
not  even  by  his  illustrious  kinsman.  But  for  Albert  Lever 
ing,  another  New  Richmond  boy  gone  wrong,  even  I 
shouldn't  know  of  his  presence  here.  We're  pretty  stubborn, 
you  know,  and  we've  a  whole  lot  of  self-esteem.  I,  his  sister, 
am  de  che-i-ld  wot  bends  de  knee  tu  de  Te-i-runt ;  'tis  /  dat 
pleads  wit'  Your  Maijestee  tew  spe-a-re  me  brudder!" 

The  weary  President  smiled  at  her  jest. 

"No;  my  brother,"  she  resumed  seriously,  "is  ill  and  has 
been  removed  from  the  prison  proper,  to  the  Hospital  annex. 
He's  being  beautifully  cared  for  by  Sister  Angela ;  but  now 
that  Mama's  gone  I  naturally  want  to  take  her  place.  I 
understand  Brother,  and  can  do  better  for  him  than  any 
stranger  could  do.  And  then  I'm  very  sorrowful,  and  must 
have  something  to  engage  my  mind." 

"Where  are  you  stopping,  Vergie?" 

"At  the  Spotswood  Hotel,  Mr.  President." 

"Get  ready  at  once  to  come  here.  I  will  send  for  your 
things.  I'll  order  my  carriage  to  convey  you  back  to  the 
hotel."  V' 

"But,  Mr.  President " 

"That's  settled.  Do  you  suppose  that  Fairfax  or  Char 
lotte  would  have  allowed  me,  or  any  member  of  my  family, 
to  stop  at  your  hotel  had  we  come  to  New  Richmond  ?" 

"I  should  hope  not,"  Vergie  replied.  She  was  thinking 
of  Nic  Tutwiler  and  his  red-headed  wife,  and  the  tavern 
they  kept. 


396  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Neither  shall  you  stop  at  the  Spotsvvood,  though  that's 
an  excellent  house.  The  Brockenborough  Mansion  shall 
be  your  home  as  long  as  you  can  be  prevailed  on  to  remain ; 
and  I  trust  we  shall  be  honored  with  your  presence  a  long 
while.  When  you  return  from  the  hotel  we'll  also  plan  for 
your  brother's  comfort." 

"Oh,  I'm  as  happy  as  a  bird,"  she  chirruped,  as  she  was 
handed  into  the  carriage  by  the  President  himself.  But 
instead  of  saying  to  the  driver,  "To  the  Spotswood,  Eighth 
and  Main,"  she  simply  said,  "Carey  Street  and  Twentieth — 
I'll  tell  you  when  to  stop,"  her  destination  being  Libby  Prison 
Hospital.  She  must  immediately  acquaint  her  brother  with 
the  good  news. 

The  guard  at  the  door  was  uncertain  regarding  the  validity 
of  her  pass,  some  "i"  not  being  dotted  or  "t"  crossed,  and 
finally  refused  to  admit  her. 

"But  I  must  be  admitted,"  she  said.  "Why,  my  brother's 
in  there." 

"Poorest  excuse  possible,  dear  lady.  We  haven't  a  very 
high  opinion  of  the  gentlemen  in  there,  and  we're  naturally 
a  trifle  suspicious  when  a  relative,  I  beg  your  pardon,  seeks 
admission." 

Vergie  was  on  the  verge  of  tears,  both  wrath  and  disap 
pointment,  when  Major  Turney,  the  commandant,  arrived, 
accompanied  by  E.  W.  Ross,  clerk  of  the  prison,  Adjutant 
Latouche,  and  Sergeant  Stansil  of  the  i8th  Georgia. 

"Certainly,  admit  the  lady,"  said  Major  Turney.  "Don't 
you  see  she  came  in  the  President's  carriage?  Indeed,  I 
just  saw  the  President  at  the  Brockenborough  hand  her 
into  the  carriage."  Then  to  Adjutant  Latouche,  "My,  but 
the  President  looked  sick !  That  devilish  neuralgia." 

Vergie  flew  to  the  hospital ;  but  before  she  could  begin  the 
recital  of  what  she  had  accomplished,  and  hoped  to  accom 
plish,  Harold  broke  out,  saying: 


VERGIE  CULPEPPER  IN  RTCHMONE  397 

"Vergie,  you  can't  guess  who's  come."  Harold  was  so 
happy  and  enthusiastic  she  forgot,  for  a  moment,  what  it 
meant  to  "come"  to  Libby  Prison.  Then,  "Must  be  some 
enemy  of  your's;  surely  you  couldn't  wish  for  a  friend  to 
become  your  fellow-guest." 

"Don't  moralize,  Sister.  Why  I'm  happier  than  a — a 
basket  of  snakes!  Just  look  over  there  on  cot  14." 

Vergie  looked,  and  when  it  dawned  on  her  that  she  was 
in  Simonson's  presence  it  seemed  that  her  blood  was  turning 
into  globules  of  fire. 

"O  Harold,  I  hate  him,  hate  him,  hate  him!  Why  is  he 
here?" 

Harold  was  too  accustomed  to  his  sister's  sudden  "squalls" 
to  be  disturbed  or  astonished. 

"Sister,  dear,"  very  quietly,  but  with  the  light  of  a  loving 
regard  glowing  in  his  eyes,  "he's  here  for  the  same  reason 
your  distinguished  brother's  here.  He's  a  prisoner  of  war." 

"What,  that  thing  a  soldier?"  Her  voice  was  raucous 
with  contempt. 

"Evidently  very  much  of  a  soldier.  In  his  first  battle 
jumped  from  private  to  captain ;  next  leap  I  guess  he'll  be  a 
brigadier-general,  if  he  ever  gets  out  of  here.  Just  saw 
Colonel  Rose  of  the  77th  Pennsylvania,  who  was  with  him  at 
Chickamauga  and  Missionary  Ridge.  He  says  this — this 
Justinian's  a  hell  of  a  fighter,  and  a  three-masted  genius. 
Tried  to  think  of  four,  but  let  it  go  at  that." 

"I  don't  care,  Harold,  I  hate  him — old  Abe  Simonson's 
son,  cracker,  po'  white  trash — scum!" 

"Look  here,  Sister,  not  another  word  out  of  you!  He's 
the  whitest  fellow  in  Raleigh  County  and  I  won't  allow  you 
or  anybody  else  to  abuse  him,  at  least  in  my  presence.  I'm 
a  Culpepper,  but  I  don't  belong  in  his  class — he's  clear 
above  me.  Why,  his  little  finger's  worth  more  than  all  the 
jumping-jack,  top-lofty  Felix  Palfreys,  and  Rod  Clarkes, 


398  AMERICANS  ALL 

and  Calhoun  Leverings  you  could  chuck  in  the  Atlantic 
Ocean;  and  I  say  you'd  be  mighty  lucky  if  you  could  land 
him.  He's  the  only  laddy-buck  I  ever  saw  that  I'd  be  willing 
to  recognize  as  a  brother-in-law ;  and  here's  my  two  Cin 
cinnati  sugar-cured  to  welcome  him  any  time  he  hoves  in 
sight  in  that  capacity." 

"But,  Harold,  you  don't  understand.  It's  Marjorie  he 
wants,"  thinking  to  put  her  brother  "to  sleep"  at  a  single 
blow. 

"That's  another  lie,  Missey  Spitfire.  He's  welcome  to 
Marjorie  as  far  as  I'm  concerned ;  but  I  tell  you  he's  been  in 
love  with  you  ever  since — well,  you  know  when — that  first 
night  at  The  Elms." 

"I  hate  to  contradict  my  gentle  and  pious  brother,"  in  a 
tone  she  always  liked  to  counter  with,  "but  I  knoiv  he  never 
so  much  as  thought  of  me." 

"But  /  know  better,  Vergie.  What  was  he  doing  here  last 
night?  Holding  out  his  arms,  and  calling  for  you  like  a — 
a  calf.bawlin'  for  its  maw." 

Vergie  now  was  sure  Harold  was  joking,  and  was  happy 
to  see  him  in  a  merry  mood.  It  showed  that  he  was  con 
valescent. 

"And  what  was  Samlinson  Jackinson  saying,  Harold  ?" 

"You  can  make  all  the  fun  you  please,  Vergie,  but  I  tell 
you  it  was  pretty  damned  pitiful.  Even  Sister  Angela,  used 
to  this  sort  of  thing  all  the  time,  couldn't  keep  back  her 
tears.  Vergie,  you're  a  tough  ticket,  and  I  don't  think  you're 
worthy  of  such  a  royal  fellow  as  Simonson." 

"But  what  did  he  say,  Harold  ?" 

"Are  you  in  fun,  Vergie,  or  in  earnest?" 

"I  don't  care  to  be  catechised,  Harold,  but  I'll  answer  you. 
I'm  neither.  He's  too  silly  to  be  funny ;  and  he's  too  trashy 
to  regard  seriously.  I'm  simply  indifferent.  Tell  me  or  not, 
just  as  you  please." 


VEEG1E  CULPEPPER  IN  RICHMOND  399 

"Well,  Sister,  I'm  glad  I'm  not  like  you.  I  do  care.  And 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  Comrade  Simonson,  and  you 
can't  bluff  me  out  of  it.  Last  night,  after  the  old  sawbones 
were  gone  and  he  was  nearer  dead  than  alive,  all  at  once 
he  sat  up  on  his  cot,  held  out  his  arms  like  this,  and  said : 
'O  Vergie,  I  want  you.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  I'd  never 
gone  to  war — and  I  wanted  you  all  the  time.'  And  /  thought 
it  was  Marjorie  he  wanted  and  somehow  had  your  names 
tangled  in  his  feverish  noggin.  So  I  brought  Sister  Angela, 
you  know  she  looks  a  good  deal  like  Marjorie,  and  I  said, 
'Here,  old  boy ;  here's  your  Marjorie.'  And  he  looked  at 
her  a  moment,  then  shoved  her  away,  and  began  crying 
pitifuler  than  ever,  'O  Vergie,  Vergie,  I  want  you !  I've 
wanted  you  all  the  time !'  " 

Vergie  mused  in  silence.  What  could  it  all  mean?  She 
couldn't  doubt  her  brother's  word — but !  That  night — when 
he  thought,  when  they  all  thought,  he  was  dying !  And  she 
was  in  such  distress — shame!  When  her  heart  was  breaking. 
Before  the  mocking  mob  she  had  flung  herself  down  at  his 
side,  doubting  nothing;  and  he  had  gasped — "Marjorie!" 
And  given  his  hand  to — Marjorie!  And  what  had  seemed 
to  be  his  dying  smile  and  love-look  he  had  bestowed  on — 
Marjorie!  And  now — 

Harold  thought  his  sister  was  softening.  Reaching  over 
and  taking  her  hand,  very  gently,  he  said,  "Sister,  you 
know  how  I  love  Simonson.  He's  such  a  corking  good  fel 
low,  and  I  want  you,  too,  to  like  him.  Won't  you  please, 
just  for  Harold's  sake,  give  the  poor  devil  a  chance  ?  I  know 
you're  all  the  world  to  him." 

With  a  voice  deep,  sepulchral,  almost  ghostly,  like  the  low 
booming  of  the  bells  of  Fate  in  the  Tower  of  Eternity, 
"Impossible,  Brother,  dear.  It's  too  late  now.  And,  apart 
from  my  own  feelings,  my  dying  mother  pledged  me — a  vow 


400  AMERICANS  ALL 

to  one  dead  and  therefore  cannot  be  cancelled — never,  in 
any  way,  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Samuel  Simonson." 

The  young  soldier  almost  fainted.  "O  Vergie,  is  my  pre 
cious  mother  dead?  You  didn't  tell  me  yesterday." 

"Nor  did  I  mean  to  tell  you  to-day,  Harold.  It  was  a 
slip  of  the  tongue.  I  didn't  think  you  were  able  to  bear  it 
yet.  O  Harold,  Brother,  I'm  so  sorry  for  you.  But  our 
angel  mother  left  you  her  blessing." 

And  the  two,  now  in  each  other's  arms,  gave  way  to  their 
tears. 

Vergie  then  told  her  brother  of  their  beautiful  mother's 
triumphant  death,  and  of  her  loving  remembrance  of  him, 
and  prayers  for  him,  down  almost  to  her  last  breath. 

Presently  she  told  him  of  her  visit  to  the  Executive  Man 
sion,  and  of  her  interview  with  President  Davis. 

"And  I'm  sure,  Harold,  the  President  will  get  you  out  of 
here,  and  give  you  decent,  comfortable  quarters,  and  a  whole 
lot  of  good  things  to  eat.  Now,  be  real  patient  till  I  return 
and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Vergie  was  tripping  toward  the  exit  when  Harold  called : 
"See  here,  Vergie;  Simonson  and  I  are  comrades,  and  I'm 
going  to  see  him  through.  Don't  make  any  arrangements 
for  me  that  don't  include  him" 

"But,  Harold,  I  can't — don't  you  see?  He  isn't  one  of 
us.  What  can  I  tell  the  President?  Why,  he's  no  more  to 
us  than " 

"There,  that'll  do,  Vergie.  Call  it  all  off !  Don't  care  any 
thing  about  Uncle  Jeffey  anyway — see  things  differently 
since  I've  been  soldiering.  But — you  must  always  count 
Simonson  in  where  I'm  concerned." 

Vergie  for  the  second  time  was  about  to  take  her  leave 
when  Simonson,  twenty  feet  distant,  began  to  show  signs  of 
waking. 

"Be  decent  to  him,  Vergie.    Remember  that  back  in  New 


VEEGIE  CULPEPPER  IN  RICHMOND  401 

Richmond  he  saved  your  bacon  two  or  three  times;  and 
that,  too,  when  help  was  mighty  scarce." 

Simonson  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  and  Harold  was  in 
stantly  off  his  cot  and  over  to  "14." 

"Better?  See  it  already!  Hard  to  kill  a  Southern  Illinois 
hazel-splitter!  Here,  Comrade,  we've  got  company  to-day. 
See !  Vergie's  come  to  see  you." 

To  Vergie's  mystification  Simonson  held  out  his  hands, 

very  thin  and  feverish,  and  said :  "Vergie,  I'm  so  glad " 

and  fell  asleep  again. 

Vergie  rode  to  the  Spotswood  as  one  in  a  confused  dream 
— angry,  yet  softening;  for  in  truth  the  young  lawyer  had 
been  the  one  great  passion  of  her  life.  "What  does  he 
mean?"  she  queried.  "What  does'  anything  mean? 

Why "  She  tried  to  find  answers  to  her  many  "whys," 

but  couldn't. 

"Why — but  what's  the  use?"  she  mused.  That  night  at 
The  Elms  when,  all  a-flutter,  she  had  called  him  to  her  room 
to  hear  about  the  mob.  She  smiled  at  her  attempted  self- 
deception.  It  had  not  been  for  that  purpose — the  precious 
secret  lay  hidden  deep  in  her  heart — for  she  had  eagerly 
listened  to  his  recital  to  Quoth  Horace  in  the  hall  below  of 
every  incident. 

She  thought  of  that  other  night — inken  black,  but  now 
luminous  in  her  memory,  when  she  had  warned  him  of 
Colonel  Morton's  peril  from  the  Knights  of  the  Golden  Cir 
cle  ;  and  he  had  accompanied  her  home  from  his  office ;  and 
what  had  "happened"  under  the  elm  trees  before  they 
parted. 

That  day — jewel-day  on  the  rosary  of  her  years — at  the 
buckthorn  tree.  Then  there  was  a  blur  of  days  and  nights 
— but,  oh,  it  had  all  been  fike  heaven.  He  had  been  such 
an  ardent  lover,  yet  always  so  gentle,  chivalrous,  mindful 
of  all  the  thousand  decencies  that  mean  so  much  to  woman. 
He  had  given  all  she  desired,  and  taken  all  it  was  his  right 


402  AMERICANS  ALL, 

to  take,  and  never  once  had  transgressed.  He  was  so — 
vital,  yet  so — honorable.  She  breathed  deeply  and  her  blood 
tingled.  Yes,  it  had  been  just  like — heaven.  O-o-o-h! 

Then  something  had  happened.  Again  she  heard,  in 
imagination,  the  roar  of  the  mob,  the  crashing  in  of  win 
dows  and  the  breaking  down  of  doors,  the  cruel  thud  of  a 
drayman's  gnarled  and  knotted  fist  on  her  father's  face, 
the  hissing  and  crackling  of  flames  leaping  heavenward,  the 
vile  threats  and  curses,  and  then  a — revolver. 

Oh,  yes — it  all  came  to  her  now.  There — then,  he  had 
put  her  to  open  shame — Marjorie.  Vergie's  lips  now  were 
bloodless,  so  tensely  were  they  drawn,  so  consumed  was  she 
with  rage.  O-o-h — and  yet? 

What  had  Harold  said?  "Calling  for  Vergie.  Didn't 
want  Marjorie  at  all.  Always — Vergie,  Vergie!" 

After  all — her  muscles  were  beginning  to  relax,  and  she 
sighed  deeply — maybe  she  had  wronged  him.  Sometimes 
dying  people  are  confused — often  she  had  heard  her  father 
say  so,  dear  old  Quoth  Horace.  Maybe  the  terrible  bullet 
wound,  and  the  awful  agony — everything — had  confused, 
bewildered  him.  What  wonder?  Poor  boy! 

Yes — strange  she  had  not  thought  of  it  before.  He  had 
been  used  to  seeing  Marjorie.  Somehow  he  and  the  Judge, 
Marjorie's  father,  were  partners.  Fred,  Marjorie's  brother, 
and  he  were  such  close  friends.  And — why  he  had  never 
gone  with  Marjorie,  kept  company  with  her — more  like 
brother  and  sister!  What  more  natural  than  for  him  to 
say  Marjorie  when  he  meant  Vergie?  This  seemed  alto 
gether  reasonable.  To  all  this  must  now  be  added  his 
present  speech  and  actions,  and  what  Harold  had  said — and 
Harold,  after  all,  was  wonderfully  knowing.  And  Harold 
had  said,  "Vergie,  you're  all  the  world  to  Simonson,"  and 
a  whole  lot  more  to  the  same  effect.  And  again :  "Vergie, 
he's  the  only  man  I  ever  saw  that  I'd  be  willing  for  you  to 


VEBG1E  CULPEPPER  IN  EICHMOND  403 

marry — both  hands  are  always  open  to  welcome  him  as  my 
brother-in-law."  Wasn't  that  lovely  of  Harold? — dear, 
blustering,  sometimes  just  awful  Harold!  What  if  it  all, 
after  all,  should  come  to  pass? 

"O-o-h!  Brother-in-law!  That  means  for  Simonson  to 
become  my  husband;  I,  Simonson's — wife.  No,  no — 
mother!  My  promise  to  the — dead.  Such  vows  must  not 
be  broken,  and  cannot  be  expunged ;  for  the  person  to  whom 
made,  the  only  person  who  could  pronounce  absolution,  is 
dead." 

Vergie  was  late  at  the  hotel,  but  the  President's  man  was 
waiting. 

When  Vergie  reached  the  Executive  Mansion,  Mrs.  Davis 
and  the  children  had  returned  from  their  orientation  drive, 
and  now  joined  with  the  President  in  welcoming  the  guest 
of  whom  they  "had  always  heard  such  nice  things." 

"Now,  Vergie,"  said  the  President,  a  little  later,  "I've 
had  to  cut  enough  red-tape  to  reach  from  here  to  that  rebel 
lious  Capitol  yonder  on  the  Potomac  in  order  to  help  out 
that  rebel  brother  of  yours — for  you  see  he's  rebelled  against 
his  folks,  and  my  folks,  and  your  folks,  and  our  folks,  and 
that  takes  in  about  everybody. 

"I  wanted  to  bring  Harold  here  at  once,  but  my  grave 
and  august  Cabinet  said  it  couldn't  be  done.  They  ran 
sacked  the  law  books  from  Lycurgus  to  Justice  Taney  and 
couldn't  find  a  single  precedent  to  justify  me  in  a  course 
they  declared  to  be  so  extraordinary.  Benjamin  —  OUT 
Judah  P. — thought  he  could  find,  not  exactly  a  precedent, 
but  an  analogous  case,  in. the  reign  of  Antiochus  the  Fourth. 
He  said  if  that  turned  out  all  right,  I  could  "abduct"  my 
nephew ;  otherwise  I  couldn't.  I  held  my  breath,  yet 
couldn't  see  what  old  Auntie  did  three  or  four  thousand 
years  ago  had  to  do  with  this  case  here  and  now " 

"But,  Uncle  Jeff,"  Vergie  said,  with  mock  gravity,  "aren't 


404  AMERICANS  ALL 

we  strict  constructionists  ?  And  don't  we  stand  by  the 
Fathers  at  all  hazards,  come  life,  come  death?  And  isn't 
it  horrid  to  run  things  to  suit  ourselves,  law  or  no  law,  as 
Mr.  Micawber  might  be  doing  right  now  if  he  were  Presi 
dent  of  the  United — ah — Duchies  of  New  Guinea?" 

"No  interruptions,  please,"  merrily  responded  President 
Davis.  "Children  should  be  seen,  not  heard.  Besides,  this 
is  not  a  Mrs.  Stowe,  or  E.  Cady  Stanton,  or  Miss  Anthony 
rally.  Well,  as  I  was  about  to  remark,  Seaton,  my  amiable 
War  Secretary,  has  graciously  relieved  me  of  my  dilemma 
by  designating  Brockenborough  House  as  one  of  the  'Offi 
cial  Prisons.'  You  can  see  now,  Miss  Vergie,  what  a  con 
venience  it  would  be  to  take  the  reins  of  government  quietly 
into  my  own  hands  and  rule  as  Dictator,  instead  of  sitting 
here  a  nominal  President,  bantered  and  badgered  and — 
helpless." 

There  was  a  momentary  stern  look  in  the  President's 
eyes,  and  an  iron  purpose  in  his  voice,  that  Vergie  never 
forgot. 

But  Vergie  dreaded  to  encroach  on  the  President's  hospi 
tality  and  boundless  chivalry  by  mentioning  that  her  brother 
had  a  comrade  from  whom  he  refused  to  be  separated — 
besides,  it  might  involve  the  cutting  of  more  red-tape. 

In  this,  however,  her  fears  were  immediately  set  at  rest. 
"Most  assuredly,"  said  the  President,  "have  Harold  bring 
his  comrade  with  him.  Isn't  this  an  'Official  Prison'?  And 
of  course  you  can  vouch  for  this  comrade  of  your  brother's 
— can  you?" 

Vergie  herself  was  astonished  at  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  she  replied:  "He's  another  of  our  rebels — but  he's 
the  soul  of  honor ;  and  I  can  vouch  for  him  boundlessly." 

To  which  the  President,  with  a  gleam  of  humor  in  his 
weary  eyes,  quietly  remarked,  "Is  that  all?" 

Vergie  wondered  just  what  the  President  meant,  but  felt 


VERGIE  CULPEPPER  IN  KICHMOND  405 

the  color  rising  in  her  face.  She  was  glad  that  at  that 
moment  Mrs.  Davis  bore  her  away  to  meet  some  distin 
guished  callers,  among  others,  Mrs.  Robert  Toombs,  and 
.Airs.  John  Slidell,  wife  of  the  Confederate  Commissioner  to 
France. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

DR.   CULPEPPER  AT  RICHMOND — VERGIE's   SORE  TRIAL 

MR.  CULPEPPER  finally  had  done  the  logical  thing- 
closed  The  Elms  and  followed  his  daughter  to  the  Con 
federate  Capitol.  His  home  was  desolate,  his  neighbors 
were  hostile,  and  his  practice,  which  had  survived  the  first 
two  years  of  the  war,  had  abruptly  ceased  entirely  with  his 
celebration  of  the  Union  defeat  at  Fredericksburg ;  after 
that,  both  from  policy  and  hatred,  every  door  was  closed 
against  him.  With  Charlotte  Culpepper  sleeping  at  Oak- 
wood  Cemetery,  and  Virginia  Lee  at  Richmond,  there  was 
every  reason  why  he  should  quit  the  scenes  and  associations 
that  constantly  revived  and  intensified  bitter  memories,  and 
elsewhere  seek  a  social  atmosphere  and  environment  that 
would  be  both  healing  and  consoling. 

Between  President  Davis  and  Dr.  Culpepper  there  were 
many  mutual  ties  of  affection  and  bonds  of  interest.  Both 
were  Kentuckians,  veterans  of  the  Mexican  War,  and  thor 
oughgoing  aristocrats ;  both  were  high-minded,  cultivated 
gentlemen,  fond  of  the  classics,  and  reverent  of  the  opin 
ions  of  a  great  and  august  antiquity ;  and,  finally,  Mrs.  Cul 
pepper,  of  precious  memory,  had  been  the  President's  near 
est  and  dearest  kinswoman,  and  for  many  years  a  cherished 
correspondent. 

Even  in  temperament  President  Davis  and  Dr.  Culpepper 
were  much  alike:  noble  after  the  manner  of  Marcus  Aure- 
lius,  chivalrous  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  but 
at  times  impatient,  dictatorial,  irascible — though  the  Presi- 

406 


DE.  CULPEPPER  AT  RICHMOND  407 

dent  had  schooled  himself  to  a  self-control  that  led  many 
to  think  he  was  a  grim  and  unemotional  stoic.  In  this  they 
were  mistaken.  To  the  contrary,  Mr.  Davis  was  exceed 
ingly  sensitive,  resented  a  personal  affront  with  extraor 
dinary  bitterness,  and  perhaps  never  forgave  an  injury. 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Davis  was  an  idealist,  and  his  ideals 
were  very  high.  He  had  the  misfortune  to  be  an  unsuccess 
ful  revolutionist,  which  constituted  him  a  "traitor,"  his 
heroic  compatriots  "rebels,"  and  the  whole  great  movement, 
of  which  he  was  the  unwilling  head,  "an  infamous  con 
spiracy  against  liberty  and  humanity" — but  no  man  ever 
truthfully  accused  him  of  falsehood,  hypocrisy,  financial  or 
political  dishonesty,  disloyalty  to  a  friend  or  an  ideal,  shun 
ning  a  duty,  evading  a  responsibility,  or  personal  cowardice. 

Even  his  judgments  of  men,  with  all  his  haughtiness  and 
imperiousness,  were  singularly  gentle  and  generous — as  was 
also  his  personal  bearing  toward  them.  Toombs,  who,  after 
February  8,  1861,  is  said  never  to  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Davis 
in  other  than  terms  of  utmost  disrespect  and  disparage 
ment,  was  invited  to  a  seat  in  his  Cabinet;  Rhett,  Pryor 
and  Yancey,  always  notoriously  malignant  toward  him,  he 
lauded  as  great  men,  and  unfailingly  mentioned  in  terms  of 
utmost  consideration ;  Bragg,  Beauregard  and  J.  E.  John 
ston,  who  thwarted  him  in  every  way,  and  often  made  his 
life  miserable,  he  forgave  without  solicitation,  at  least  eth 
ically  and  officially,  and  favored  beyond  their  personal  or 
military  merits.  Even  the  Brutus-like  thrusts  of  Gov 
ernors  Vance  and  Brown,  and  Vice-President  Stephens, 
never  swayed  him  from  his  high  poise  as  a  Christian  gen 
tleman,  or  provoked  him  to  words  or  acts  of  retaliation — 
at  which  Dr.  Culpepper  often  marveled. 

Wit  is  biting,  and  stings;  humor  is  soothing,  and  heals. 
Both  are  intellectual  gifts,  but  possess  no  moral  quality. 
Indeed,  the  wit  may  be  worthier  than  the  humorist.  But 


408  AMERICANS  ALL 

the  wit  is  doomed  to  isolation,  while  the  humorist  always 
has  a  strong-  personal  following.  It  was  the  gift  of  humor 
that  gave  to  Lincoln  an  army  of  adorers,  while  Davis,  the 
wit,  was  left  to  walk  alone — besides,  Mr.  Davis'  constant 
ill-health  was  always  against  him ;  also  the  wound  that  never 
healed,  received  at  the  Battle  of  Buena  Vista. 

Mr.  Davis  keenly  felt  his  isolation,  but  was  tempera 
mentally  unable  to  escape  from  it.  He  dwelt  apart.  His 
native  atmosphere  was  too  cold,  and  his  intellectual  pleas 
ures  and  pursuits  were  too  high  and  remote,  for  the  multi 
tude.  And  yet,  to  the  few  who  understood,  and  were  able 
to  appreciate,  him — such  as  Lee,  Benjamin,  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston,  Stonewall  Jackson,  Polk,  the  Bishop-General  of 
Louisiana — he  was  constantly  and  altogether  delightful. 

Dr.  Culpepper  arrived  at  Richmond  shortly  after  Harold's 
and  the  young  lawyer's  removal  to  Mr.  Davis'  residence. 
The  President  wanted  the  doughty  Doctor  to  be  his  guest 
at  Brockenborough  Mansion,  but  the  cordial  invitation  was 
declined. 

"You  already  have  Vergie  and  my  renegade  son,  and  we 
must  not  abuse  your  too  generous  hospitality ;  besides,  the 
Spotswood  House  is  convenient,  and  I  can  frequently  drop 
in  on  you  and  the  children." 

It  was  not  easy  for  the  haughty  cavalier  Kentuckian  to 
be  reconciled  to  his  Union  soldier  son,  and  Vergie's  diplo 
macy  was  taxed  to  the  utmost.  Possibly  she  would  have 
failed  but  for  the  counsels  and  example  of  the  President. 

"Harold  is  already  half-orphaned,"  said  President  Davis, 
"and  it  would  be  cruel,  Fairfax,  for  you  to  hold  out  against 
him." 

But  more  potent  still  was  the  President's  example.  No 
honored  guest  of  the  Confederacy  could  have  been  treated 
by  the  President  with  greater  kindness  and  distinction  than 


DR.  CULPEPPER  AT  RICHMOND  409 

was  the  young  kinsman  who  had  been,  and  still  was,  a  rebel 
to  the  Southern  Cause. 

It  was  vastly  easier  for  the  Doctor  to  reestablish  friendly 
relations  with  the  young  lawyer.  Simonson  was  very  sick, 
and  the  Doctor  had  satisfied  himself  that  he  had  not  per 
suaded  Harold  to  enter  the  Union  army ;  moreover,  he  had 
shown  himself  to  be  a  brave,  as  well  as  honorable,  man; 
and  in  the  Doctor's  sight  that  was  a  distinct  claim  to 
consideration. 

Thus,  in  a  few  days,  the  entente  cordiale  was  firmly  estab 
lished,  and  the  Doctor,  mellowed  and  gentled  by  grief,  and 
no  longer  goaded  to  fury  by  political  opponents,  soon  be 
came  an  ideally  lovable  father  and  friend.  Nor  was  the 
result  of  the  reconciliation  less  happy  with  Harold  and 
Vergie.  Their  hearts  increasingly  went  out  in  loving  sym 
pathy  to  their  father,  and  they  tenderly  and  constantly 
strove  to  take  their  mother's  place  in  his  lonely  life.  In 
this  endeavor  Vergie  was  especially  successful;  and  the 
Doctor's  increasing  gentleness  and  affection  had  their  reflex 
influence  on  the  daughter's  disposition. 

Christmas  at  the  Brockenborough  Mansion  was  in  pleas 
ing  contrast  with  the  previous  Christmas  at  The  Elms. 
The  President  and  his  family  were  at  their  best ;  there  were 
many  presents  and  much  merry-making,  and  all  Richmond 
gaily,  but  not  without  pious  exaltation,  celebrated  the  high 
festival  of  the  Lord's  Nativity.  For  the  time  there  were 
no  war  anxieties.  Grant  was  peacefully  touring  Tennessee 
and  Kentucky  without  army,  and  almost  without  escort; 
the  Eastern  army  was  inactive,  and  hope  was  fondly  cher 
ished  that  England  and  France  and  Germany — according  to 
Bismarck's  desire — soon  would  intervene  in  behalf  of  their 
beloved  Confederacy. 

Dr.  Culpepper  was  happier  than  ever  he  had  expected  to 
be  again.  He  was  reconciled  to  his  son,  his  daughter  was 


410  AMERICANS  ALL 

greatly  admired,  and  he  himself  was  treated  by  everybody 
with  utmost  respect. 

Christmas  evening  there  were  many  callers  at  the  Execu 
tive  Mansion :  members  of  the  Confederate  Congress,  the 
entire  Cabinet,  and  not  a  few  officers  of  the  army,  notably 
Generals  Lee,  Stuart,  and  Beauregard. 

President  Davis  and  General  Lee  were  much  together, 
and  every  one  could  see  that  they  were  very  fond  of  each 
other. 

General  Lee  combined  cheerfulness  and  gravity,  and  was 
in  marked  contrast  with  Mr.  Benjamin,  who  was  neither 
grave  nor  specially  cheerful.  Not  that  the  great  Jew  was 
lacking  in  dignity  or,  on  the  other  hand,  was  morose — but 
above  all  other  Southern  men  he  was  the  most  open-eyed 
and  far-sighted.  He  kneiv.  He  was  the  first  to  announce 
the  inevitable  outcome ;  but  was  so  devoted  to  the  "Lost 
Cause"  he  refused  to  remain  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 
and  ever  after  the  war  resided  abroad — an  English  Jew 
enabling  him  to  rise  to  the  rank  and  dignity  of  Queen's 
Counsellor. 

General  Lee  was  hopeful ;  Stuart  and  Beauregard  confi 
dent.  "I  hope  we  shall  succeed,"  was  Lee's  guarded  utter 
ance.  "We  shall  succeed,  and  that  shortly,"  was  Stuart's 
and  Beauregard's  oft-repeated  boast. 

Of  course,  the  ladies  were  very  loyal,  and  very  optimistic. 

Harold  was  present.  He  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
enjoy  the  occasion,  and  the  President  would  not  allow  him 
to  seclude  himself. 

Introducing  him  to  his  distinguished  guests,  the  Presi 
dent  would  say,  "This  is  a  beloved  kinsman  of  mine,  gone 
wrong;  he's  paroled  to  me;  he's  a  major  in  the  rebellious 
army  that's  been  causing  us  so  much  trouble  in  Tennessee." 
Being  in  citizen  apparel,  it  might  have  been  taken  for  a  jest, 


DE.  CULPEPPEE  AT  RICHMOND  411 

had  not  Harold  and  the  Doctor  always  promptly  confirmed 
the  statement. 

Many,  on  being  thus  introduced,  spoke  affectionately  of 
the  "old  flag,"  especially  General  Lee;  and  Harold,  to  his 
surprise,  found  himself  lionized. 

General  Stuart  said,  "We've  learned  to  respect  your  great 
army,  Major  Culpepper,  and  your  rank  in  it  does  you  high 
honor,  sir." 

Dr.  Culpepper  was  surprised  to  find  himself  proud  of  the 
"'ornery  whelp."  Introducing  him  to  General  Lee,  he  said, 
"I  don't  know  whether  you'll  be  willing  to  take  the  hand  of 
my  rascally  son:  you  see,  he's  a  major  in  Grant's  army, 
but  just  now,  happily,  in  our  hands."  Instantly  the  great 
commander,  with  high-born  courtesy,  replied,  "It's  an 
honor,  Dr.  Culpepper,  to  be  commanded  by  General  Grant, 
and  I'm  delighted  to  meet  your  brave  son." 

At  last  Dr.  Culpepper  and  Vergie  were  alone — the  young 
people  were  dancing,  and  Harold  was  conversing  with  a 
young  officer  of  his  own  rank  in  the  Confederate  army. 

Vergie  took  her  father's  arm  and  they  strolled  into  the 
library,  which  was  now  deserted.  With  the  gallantry  of  the 
old  school,  he  seated  her,  and  then  himself  took  a  chair 
beside  her. 

"Vergie,"  he  began,  "pardon  your  father's  curiosity,  but 
what  is  there  between  you  and  Simonson?" 

"Why,  Papa,"  taken  by  surprise,  "what's  put  that  in  your 
head  ?  Harold's  been  talking  to  you." 

"Nobody's  been  talking  to  me,  Vergie.  Haven't  I  a  pair 
of  pretty  good  eyes  of  my  own?" 

"Do  you  mean,  Papa,  that  I've  been  indiscreet,  or  that 
he's  been  over-bold ;  or  what's  put  such  a  notion  in  your 
mind?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  Daughter.     I  guess  I  was  mistaken." 

Vergie  was  disappointed.     She  had  coveted  a  chance  to 


412  AMERICANS  ALL 

talk  to  her  father,  and  now  she  was  throwing  away  the  best 
of  opportunities.  But  she  felt  she  must  have  advice. 

"Papa,  dear,"  she  began,  haltingly,  "are  you  willing  to 
hear  a  very  foolish  story — a  story  that  may  make  you  very 
angry  at  your  little  girl?" 

"My  darling,  your  father's  always  willing  to  listen  to  his 
little  girl." 

"But  this  is  a  terrible  story,  Papa." 

"All  the  greater  reason  why  you  should  confide  it  to  your 
father."  He  was  looking  at  her  very  earnestly,  but  his 
voice  was  gentle  and  caressing. 

Then,  beginning  with  her  first  interest  in  the  young  law 
yer,  she  narrated  everything,  omitting  nothing,  though  often 
her  face  was  suffused  with  embarrassment,  and  sometimes 
her  voice  was  subdued  to  a  whisper:  the  evening  she  sum 
moned  him  to  her  room;  the  night  she  warned  him  of  the 
peril  confronting  the  recruiting  officer,  when,  believing  that 
he  loved  her,  she  had  encouraged  him  to  take  the  liberties  of 
a  lover ;  the  meetings  at  the  buckthorn  tree ;  the  many  meet 
ings  of  the  following  summer  and  autumn — from  first  to 
last  she  told  him  everything,  except  the  tragic  conclusion 
of  the  one  great  passion  of  her  life. 

When  she  was  done  her  father  said :   "And — next  ?" 

"There  is  no  'next,'  Papa." 

"My  daughter,  there's  always  a  next  to  such  an  experi 
ence  as  yours  and  Simonson's — a  great  consummation,  or 
a  solemn  tragedy." 

"Then  mine,  Papa,  is  a  tragedy." 

"And  the  tragedy,  Daughter?" 

"Marjorie  Gildersleeve !    He  loves  Marjorie." 

"Virginia,  my  darling,  you're  the  victim  of  the  green- 
eyed  monster.  Marjorie  would  never  come  between  you 
and  your  happiness;  besides,  Marjorie's  to  marry  Harold." 


DR.  CULPEPPER  AT  RICHMOND  413 

"I  know,  Papa,  but "  There  were  proofs  she  couldn't 

submit  to  her  father. 

"Besides,  Daughter,  I've  some  inside  information.  I  don't 
know  that  I've  the  right " 

"Never  mind,  Papa.  I  understand.  Harold's  been  tell- 
ing- 

"No,  Daughter.  Harold's  told  me  nothing.  He's  too 
busy  writing  to  Marjorie  —  making  up  for  lost  time,  I 
reckon." 

"And  what's  the  'inside  information,'  Papa  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Vergie.  You  know  I'm  not  accustomed  to 
indulge  in  such  conversation ;  nor  would  I  but  for  the  fact 
you've  no  mother  now.  My  darling,  I've  often  observed 
Simonson  when  you've  been  about — sort  of  a  way  we  doc 
tors  have." 

"Well?"  Vergie  was  amused  at  her  father's  awkward 
embarrassment.  "Well  ?" 

"Simonson  simply  can't  keep  his  eyes  off  of  you  when 
you're  around ;  nor  has  he  ears  for  anybody  but  you. 
And " 

"Yes— Papa?    Go  on." 

"May  the  Lord  and  old  Hippocrates  forgive  me,  for  this 
seems  like  divulging  the  secrets  of  the  sick-room  and  of 
the  confessional ;  but  more  than  once  when  I've  been  alone 
with  him,  and  he's  been  asleep,  I've  heard  him  call  you  by 
name;  and " 

"That'll  do,  Papa !  I  don't  care  to  hear  the  rest." 

"But,  Vergie,"  the  Doctor  continued,  not  wishing  to  be 
interrupted,  "Simonson  said " 

"Please,  Papa,  let  me  ask  you  a  question." 

"Yes,  Vergie;  but  I  don't  like  to  be  interrupted  that 
way." 

"Papa,"  now  very  earnestly,  "let  me  ask  you — let's  see ; 
I'll  put  it  hypothetically.  If  a  young  man  like,  well,  say 


414  AMERICANS  ALL 

Mr.  Simonson,  were  to  be  very  much  in  love  with  a  girl 
like — well,  say,  just  for  example,  me;  and  said  young  man 
were  to  ask  said  girl  to — to  marry  him,  what  do  you  think 
she  ought  to  say?" 

"It  would  all  depend,  my  darling,  on  how  much  she 
thought  of — Felix  Palfrey!" 

"Why — Papa!  What  do  you  mean?  Whatever  put  that 
silly  notion  in  your  dear  old  noggin?"  Vergie  was  laugh 
ing. 

Not  to  be  diverted :  "Vergie,  is  it  all  off  between  my 
little  girl  and  the  gallant  Frenchman?" 

"Yes,  Papa — I'll  be  frank  with  you.  It  is  all  off  with 
zee  leetl'  moo-sik  an'  lang-widge — ah,  mas-taire,  and  I'm 
so  glad  Uncle  Jeffey's  got  him  in  Paris.  Papa,  you  must 
know  I  never  could  love  a  poppinjay.  Oh,  yes,  I  confess  I 
was  taken  with  him  at  first — awfully!  You  know  how 
fetching  he  is — but,  the  man  that  wins  me  for  keeps  must 
be  straightforward.  O  Papa,  he  disgusted  me  till  I  couldn't 
bear  the  sight  of  him." 

The  conversation  lagged,  and  Vergie  sat  musing. 

Presently:    "Papa,  your  answer." 

"Marry  him !" 

"Simonson?  Old  Abe  Simonson's  son?  Cracker?  Po' 
white  trash?  Ex-convict?" 

"Daughter,  none  of  that  applies  to  the  young  lawyer." 

"And  you'd  give  your  consent  and  blessing?" 

"With  all  my  heart." 

Instantly  her  arms  were  about  his  neck.  "O  Daddy, 
Daddy,  Daddy,  you're  the  dearest  old  daddy  that  ever  was !" 
And  with  that  she  danced  out  of  the  room.  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  cause  or  meaning  of  her  sudden  exuber 
ance,  it  was  evident  she  had  forgotten,  for  the  time,  a  very 
solemn  promise  made  to  one  that  was  dead. 

A  minute  later,  flushed  with  happiness,  Vergie  bounded 


DR.  CULPEPPEB  AT  RICHMOND  415 

into  her  brother's  room.  She  knew  Harold  was  there  by 
the  light  pouring  through  the  transom,  and  the  odor  of  a 
well-seasoned  pipe  that  unmistakably  was  doing  its  duty 
like  a  veteran. 

"O  Brother,  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  maybe,  maybe 
I'll  do  just " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Vergie?  Are  you  crazy — that  is, 
crazier  than  usual?"  Harold  was  very  fond  of  his  sister, 
and  marked  that  now  she  was  unusually  beautiful.  "I  say, 
Vergie — what  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  I'll  maybe,  maybe,  when  you  and  Marjorie  are  mar 
ried,  I'll " 

"You  mean  Edythe,  don't  you?" 

Harold  must  have  been  quite  recovered  or  he  could  not 
have  survived  the  pommeling  she  proceeded  to  mercilessly 
administer. 

"No,  you  naughty,  mean  brother.  I  mean  Marjorie — 
don't  you  understand?  The  fair  Marjorie  of  all  your 
dreams — Mrs.  Marjorie  Culpepper-to-be,  prospective  mama, 
I  trust,  of  many  brave  Harolds  and  fair  Marjories,  who  will 
call  me  'Aunt  Vergie' — Marjorie  Gildersleeve,  golden- 
haired,  blue-eyed  daughter -m-love  of  Fairfax  Culpepper, 
M.  D.,  commonly  known  as  'Quoth  Horace,'  of  whom  I 
fear  a  certain  black-eyed,  ebon-haired,  ah,  somebody  will 
be  terribly  jeal " 

"Vergie,  damn  it  all,  shut  your  mouth.  You  rave  like  an 
idiot.  You  must  have  had  pumpkinseed  for  supper,  or  a 
dipper  of  poppyjuice.  You're  seventy  times  seven  daffy. 
Don't  you  know  Marjorie  and  I  played  quits  long  ago? 
And  so  help  me  johnny  jumpup,  I'm  going  to  marry  Edythe 
if  I  ever  get  out  of  this  accursed  war  of  Uncle  Jeffey's !" 

Vergie  now  saw  that  her  brother  was  in  earnest;  and 
somehow  the  world  was  suddenly  jarred  from  its  center, 
though  just  how,  she  was  too  much  confused  to  understand. 


416  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Edythe?  Why,  to  whom  do  you  refer?"  she  managed 
to  say. 

"Why,  Edythe,  that's  all.  There  only  one  real  Edythe— 
Edythe  Fernleaf,  of  course." 

"Harold!  You  going  to  marry  the  Widow  Fernleaf?  I 
didn't  know  you  had  the  hay  fever." 

"Hay  fever?    What  do  you  mean,  Vergie?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  only  she's  a  grass  widow!"  and  with  that 
she  beat  a  precipitate  retreat. 

But  in  New  Richmond  it  was  no  secret  that  the  young 
Lord  of  The  Elms  had  transferred  his  allegiance  from  the 
Fair  Marjorie  of  The  Maples  to  the  Tangle-Cognomened 
Edythe  of  the  Millinery  Emporium.  And  in  New  Rich 
mond  there  were  many  "ahs,"  and  "ohs,"  and  "ehs,"  and 
not  a  few  ejaculations:  "Could  you  believe  it?"  "Who  would 
have  thought  it?"  "And  what's  the  world  coming  to,  any 
way?"  And  so  on,  ad  infinitum, 

It  certainly  was  no  fault  of  Edythe's  that  Mr.  Fernleaf 
was  permanently  located  at  New  Lisbon,  or  that  his  mail 
was  sent  "In  care  of  the  warden."  Mr.  Abijah  Fernleaf  had 
made  his  adieux  at  the  bridal  altar,  precisely  one  minute 
after  the  ceremony,  with  the  kindly,  though  unsolicited, 
assistance  of  the  sheriff.  And  thus,  as  a  sort  of  climax  to 
his  somewhat  bizarre  career,  in  a  single  moment  and  by  a 
single  act  had  twined  his  sweetheart's  maidenhood,  though 
not  her  vestal  state,  with  grass,  and,  as  it  were,  metamor 
phosed  her  from  a  Titwillow  to  a  grass-widow — Titwillow 
having  been  her  maiden  name. 

That  she  was  not  bad-looking  is  more  than  vouched  for 
by  the  wood-cut  that  appeared  weekly  in  the  very  weakly 
Cockier,  owned  and  edited  by  Voe  Bijaw,  in  connection  with 
the  Millinery  Emporium  advertisement ;  and  that  she  was  not] 
lacking  in  literary  aspiration  is  proved  by  the  many  verses,  , 


DR.  CULPEPPER  AT  RICHMOND  417 

published  in  said  Weakly,  at  so  much  per  line,  with  which 
she,  poetically  speaking,  laureated  herself. 

She  also  played  the  melodeon  at  the  mid-week  prayer 
meeting. 

And — if  we  may  anticipate  somewhat — Harold  Culpep- 
per  did  not  wait  for  the  war  to  end,  but,  upon  reaching 
New  Richmond,  having  departed  sub  rosa  from  old  Rich 
mond,  immediately  prevailed  on  her  to  exchange  the  Fern- 
leaf  for  the  Cul-pepper — so  importunate  is  love,  and  so  all- 
conquering  is  Cupid!  Aye,  despite  Edythe's  shyness  and 
timidity,  to  the  nuptial  bower  he  led  her,  "blushing  like  the 
morn." 

But  Vergie,  to  return  from  our  digression,  was  pro 
foundly  shocked,  not  merely  by  her  brother's  threatened 
mesalliance,  but  by  the  significance  of  the  fact  that  now 
there  was  no  barrier  between  Marjorie  and  Simonson,  and 
probably  had  been  none  from  the  beginning. 

What,  then,  was  the  natural,  or  at  least  reasonable,  infer 
ence?  Simonson  had  always  been  false  to  her;  Marjorie 
had  always  been  his  real  sweetheart,  while  she,  Vergie,  had 
been  his  easy  dupe;  and  she,  Vergie,  had  flung  away  the 
inestimable  treasures  of  her  love  and  sacrificed  the  priceless 
jewels  of  her  lips,  all  save  maidenly  honor,  on  a  cracker, 
po'  white  trash,  the  low-born  son  of  a  drunken  ex-convict. 

She  hated  him  now.  Her  wrath  against  Edythe  Fernleaf 
and  indignation  against  her  brother  seemed  to  intensify  her 
fury  against  the  man  whom  twice — she  confessed  it  with 
shame — she  had  madly  loved. 

Her  tigress  nature  was  blindly  rampant.  Christmas,  what 
a  mockery !  Below  she  could  hear  Strauss'  music  of  pas 
sion  and  the  dancers — now  she  loathed  it  all.  Better  the 
music  of  demons  played  by  satyrs !  Granting  she  could 
ever  come  to  feel  again,  to  respond  to  an  honorable  man's 
passionate  entreaty,  should  such  a  wooer  ever  come,  what 


418  AMERICANS  ALL 

could  she  say  to  his  question — question  asked,  perhaps,  with 
a  world  of  ardent  longing  upleaping  in  his  eyes — after 
Simonson,  what  could  she  reply  to  the  question :  "Hath 
these  lips  of  thine  ever  before  been  kissed,  thus  and  thus? 
These  hands,  so  shapely,  have  they  ever  been  pressed,  so 
and  so?  This  form  divine  has  it  ever  been  encircled  and 
fondled  by  other  hands  and  arms  than  mine,  after  this  man 
ner,  and  this,  and  this?" 

Fiercely  she  hissed  the  answer:  "Yes!  yes,  often,  many 
times,  numberless  times,  by  a  base-natured  son  of  a  de 
praved  pariah,  contemptuously  called  'Old  Abe  Simonson, 
the  drunkard-convict.' " 

"Oh,  how  I  hate  him!"  in  a  tempest  of  rage.  "What  a 
luxury  hatred  has  become !  How  delicious  to  despise  such 
a  hypocrite!  Why  did  I  yield  to  Harold's  entreaty  to  be 
'nice  to  the  poor  devil'?  What  happy,  accurate  nomencla 
ture!  'Poor  devil'!  Thank  heaven,  the  poor  devil  doesn't 
know  all  I've  thought  and  felt  toward  him  to-day—even 
to-night  I'd  determined  to  bid  him  hope!  Now " 

She  was  in  a  small  upstairs  reception  room.  "I'll  go  to 
my  room  and  lock  the  door  before  Papa  comes.  Were  I 
to  meet  him  now,  after  our  conversation  in  the  library, 
and  what  he  must  have  inferred  from  my  actions,  I'd  have  to 
lie  to  him — act  the  hypocrite.  Then  I'd  be  as  base  as  that 
creature!  Blessed  mother,  your  prayer  for  me  was  not  in 
vain!  Your  Vergie's  vow  is  yet  inviolate,  and  shall  so 
remain !  And  yet — how  tempted  I  have  been  all  day !  And 
to-night  I  even  forgot  my  vow  to  the  dead !  What's  there 
about  that — that  Simonson  that  is  so  appealing?  People 
say  it's  his  gentleness  and  honesty — bah!  I  know  he's  as 
false  as  Satan,  and  crueler  than  a  serpent's  fang !" 

Going  to  her  room,  she  had  to  pass  Simonson's  room. 
As  she  did  so  she  heard  him  speak  her  name.  "Vergie" 
— it  was  clear  and  distinct.  She  passed  on.  "Hypocrite, 


DK.  CULPEPPER  AT  EICHMOND  419 

to  presume  to  speak  my  name.  He  knows  that  everybody's 
downstairs  but  Harold,  and  Harold's  abed  and  asleep.  He'd 
have  a  tete-a-tete,  sub  rosa,  with  his  dupe — hands,  arms, 
lips,  ugh!  He  thinks  it  would  be  so  romantic!  I'd  scorn 


"Vergie — I  want- 


Again  the  voice  came  clearly  and  distinctly.  There  was 
something  in  it  wistful,  plaintive,  appealing. 

"Maybe  it's  time  to  take  his  medicine.  Possibly  he's 
thirsty  from  fever,"  relenting  somewhat. 

"One  would  hardly  treat  a  dog,  a — a  brute  so  mean  as 
that — to  refuse  drink  or  medicine  when  suffering." 

Before  she  realized  what  she  was  doing  she  had  returned, 
and  entered  the  sick-room. 

Sure  enough,  he  was  alone. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  with  a  rising  inflection.  "  Tis  I,  Vergie. 
Something  you  want?" 

There  was  no  response. 

She  crossed  the  room  to  his  bedside.  A  dim  light  from 
the  transom  revealed  his  face.  He  was  asleep.  She  looked, 
half-resentfully,  into  his  face:  so  strong,  so  pale,  so  thin, 
such  evidence  of  suffering  and  sorrow!  She  thought,  "Oh, 
how  can  such  a  man,  such  a  man,  be  a  deceiver?" 

"Vergie,  I  want — want — you!" 

There  was  a  world  of  pathos  in  his  voice.  Restlessly  he 
turned  his  head  on  the  pillow,  showing  that  his  troubles 
had  invaded  his  slumber — his  waking  thought  haunted  him, 
even  in  the  shadowy  realm  of  phantasm.  Evidently  he  was 
sound  asleep. 

"Do  people  lie  in  their  sleep?"  She  remembered  to  have 
read  that  certain  judges  have  held  that  the  declarations  of 
men  in  slumber,  though  not  admissible  as  evidence,  are 
probably  true.  "Oh,  if  I  could  only  get  a  word  from  him 
in  his  sleep — right  from  his  heart!" 


420  AMERICANS  ALU 

What  wonder  she  was  excited?  Too,  she  was  fearful  of 
discovery.  But  she  wanted  to  know — but  how  could  she 
question  him  in  his  sleep?  People  do  not  converse  in  their 
sleep.  Yet  she  must  find  out — he  must  declare  himself. 

Leaning  noiselessly  above  him,  and  imitating  Marjorie's 
voice,  which  she  could  do  to  perfection — once  had  done  it 
so  perfectly  even  Fred,  Marjorie's  own  brother,  had  been 
deceived — she  gently  said: 

"Yes,  dear;  here's  your  Marjorie." 

She  did  not  have  long  to  wait  for  her  answer,  though  the 
instant  seemed  an  eternity. 

"No,  no — it's  Vergie — Vergie  I — I  want.  I  f-fought  for 

— Verg — I "  His  voice  trailed  off  into  incoherence,  but 

he  had  said  enough. 

She  had  her  answer. 

Vergie  bowed  her  head  and  wept.  Gently,  very  gently, 
she  touched  his  brow,  and  her  touch  seemed  to  soothe  him 
— at  least  his  restless  tossing  ceased.  His  breathing,  too, 
grew  deeper  and  more  regular. 

"Heaven  forgive  me,"  she  murmured.  "It  required  al 
most  a  voice  from  the  dead  to  set  me  right.  O  Sammy, 
Sammy,  for  my  sake,  for  your  Vergle's  sake,  live !" 

And  stooping  low,  she  brushed  his  lips  with  a  kiss,  though 
ever  so  lightly,  lest  she  should  wake  him,  and  passed  out  of 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
VERGIE'S  ABSOLUTION  FROM  vow  MADE  TO  HER  MOTHER 

AT  EVER  was  soul  swept  by  fiercer  tempest  than  that 
i^i  which  almost  stranded  Vergie  when  her  brother  in 
formed  her  that  he  was  no  longer  affianced  to  Marjorie  Gil- 
dersleeve,  and  had  not  been  for  months. 

The  fury  of  a  mob  is  so  intense  because  all  the  long- 
accumulating  wraths  occasioned  by  the  countless  wrongs  of 
preceding  decades  and  centuries  are  instantly  fused  into 
one,  and  focused  on  the  single  outrage  of  the  moment.  The 
seething  fury  that  razed  the  Bastile  was  not  kindled  by  the 
arrest  and  incarceration  of  four  forgers  and  three  nonde 
script  derelicts — but  in  that  flash  of  time  all  the  enormities 
of  four  centuries  climaxed,  and  were  concentred  and  con 
verged  on  that  isolated  pin-point  of  time  and  circumstance. 
The  single  simple  act  which,  ordinarily,  would  not  have 
attracted  a  moment's  notice,  was  the  solitary  flame-flecked 
match  that  ignited  the  deadly  magazine  of  boundless  indig 
nation,  precipitating  the  downfall  of  the  Bastile,  and  the 
French  Revolution,  with  all  its  nameless  horrors. 

So  with  Vergie.  Her  present  wrath  was  the  result  of  the 
concentration  and  focalization  of  the  sum-total  of  all  the 
hypocrisies  and  indignities  she  suddenly  concluded  Simon- 
son  had  inflicted  upon  her. 

Those  who  think  her  anger  was  out  of  proportion  to  the 
provocation,  and  that  a  girl  so  virile  and  regnant  would  have 
better  governed  herself,  however  dire  her  indignation,  little 

421 


422  AMERICANS  ALL, 

understand  the  tempestuous  blood  that  is  brewed  under 
Southern  skies,  or  the  haughty  and  imperious  dispositions 
that  were  bred  by  the  baron-regime  of  the  Slavocrat  cava 
liers — and  of  all  that  extraordinary  race  and  epoch  Vergie 
Culpepper  was  the  most  potent  and  exquisite  culmination 
and  consummation.  As  a  Culpepper  she  was  the — 

"Mild  offspring  of  a  dark  and  sullen  sire, 
Whose  modest  form,  so  delicately  fine, 

Was  nursed  in  whirling  storms, 

And  cradled  in  the  winds." 

Likewise  her  contrition,  and  instant  surrender  of  herself, 
when  convinced  by  his  call  out  of  the  prison-house  of 
dreams  that  he  was  true  to  her,  had  always  been  true,  and 
that  in  fact  he,  not  she,  was  the  one  wronged,  was  in  per 
fect  keeping  with  the  Southern  temperament. 

Accordingly,  nothing  now  could  have  surpassed  Vergie's 
sweet  engagingness  —  the  inevitable  opposite  swing  of 
the  pendulum.  This  was  her  first  great  passion,  made 
great  not  only  by  her  own  and  her  lover's  temperaments 
and  endowments,  but  also  by  the  many  unusual  conditions 
and  circumstances  entering  into  their  lives  at  New  Rich 
mond — and  feminine  intuition  made  her  mistress  of  all  the 
charms  and  wiles  with  which  a  beautiful  woman  loves  to 
rapture  the  One  Man. 

Gladstone  declared  of  one  of  his  colleagues  that  his  dis 
tinguishing  characteristic  was  "a  passion  for  philanthropy" ; 
Vergie's  distinguishing  characteristic  might,  not  inaptly,  be 
said  to  have  been  a  genius  for  loving,  and  calling  forth  all 
that  was  best  and  noblest  in  the  one  beloved. 

And  now  there  was  nothing  to  hinder.  The  next  morn 
ing  the  young  lawyer  was  decidedly  better.  "A  touch  of 
love  had  almost  made  him  well" ;  though  the  secret  of  her 


VERGIE'S  ABSOLUTION  433 

midnight  visit  to  his  room  Vergie  secretly  kept  for  future 
revelation. 

In  the  great  world  without  the  dogs  of  war  were  sleep 
ing  ;  within  there  was  naught  but  tranquil  hope. 

Vergie  and  the  young  lawyer  felt  that  they  had  wronged 
each  other  woefully — and  the  fact  that  each  must  keep  the 
sordid,  wretched  secret  from  the  other  intensified  their  con 
trition,  and  desire  to  make  amends,  each  to  the  other. 

With  Simonson  there  was  yet  another  cause  for  ardency: 
Comrade  Harold's  happiness.  He  must  forget  Marjorie; 
not  only  because  his  passion  for  her  had  caused  him  to 
wrong  Vergie,  but  now  because  the  honor  and  happiness 
of  three — Vergie,  Harold,  and  himself — were  at  stake.  He 
must  forget  Marjorie,  his  one  great  passion,  to  escape  mis 
ery  for  Vergie  and  himself,  and  to  leave  the  way  open  for 
Comrade  Harold  to  marry  Marjorie,  with  whom  he  sup 
posed  him  still  to  be  in  love — and  his  only  escape  lay  in 
loving  Vergie  to  the  distraction  of  all  other  thoughts  and 
desires. 

Nor  was  this  difficult  as  long  as  he  was  in  Vergie's  pres 
ence.  Her  wit  and  beauty,  charm  of  dress  and  manner, 
thousand  witching  coquetries,  and  occasional  tidal  waves  of 
passion  and  emotion,  when  all  the  rich,  warm  splendors  of 
her  nature  were  lavished  upon  him,  inspired  him,  for  the 
time,  to  vow  to  her  a  love  commensurate  with  the  demands 
of  her  imperious  nature ;  and  a  constancy  unfailing  "till  the 
stars  are  old,  and  the  sun  is  cold,  and  the  leaves  of  the 
Judgment- Book  unfold." 

At  the  same  time,  welling  up  in  Vergie's  mind  and  heart, 
was  the  sweet,  glad  thought:  "Marjorie's  free,  yet  he  pre 
fers  me;  therefore  I  must  reward  him  with  myself,  and 
every  sweet  charm  I  possess." 

"Even  though  Marjorie  were  free, — but  Marjorie  belongs 
to  Harold,  and  I  belong  to  Vergie,"  was  the  young  lawyer's 


424  AMERICANS  ALL 

rallying  cry  when,  in  Vergie's  absence,  her  vital  lure  lost 
somewhat  of  its  potency,  and  the  vision  of  a  fair  face  in 
New  Richmond,  wreathed  with  golden  hair,  and  illumined 
by  a  pair  of  wonderful  blue  eyes,  would  come  before  him — 
a  vision  he  always  banished  as  soon  as  possible. 

Vergie  had  but  one  secret  to  trouble  her :  her  vow  to  her 
mother. 

As  a  rule,  however,  women  are  opportunists — they  rarely 
cross  bridges  before  they  come  to  them :  "Sufficient  unto 
the  day  is  the  evil  [or  good]  thereof,"  is  their  working  phi 
losophy.  Nevertheless,  women,  when  under  the  domination 
of  passion  or  emotion,  sometimes  "rush  in  where  angels  fear 
to  tread" — and  by  their  usual  success,  and  immunity  from 
harm,  seemingly  prove  that  angels,  if  not  exactly  cowards, 
are  exceedingly  timid,  and  very  unlike  their  sisters  here 
below. 

And  it  was  so  sweet  to  love  and  be  loved ;  just  to  drift, 
and  ask  Fate  no  questions;  just  to  trust  that  Love  would 
find  a  way ;  just  to  bask  in  heavenly  sunshine,  and  not  to 
fret  or  pester  Providence;  just  to  sail  on  and  on  forever, 
or  cast  anchor  in  any  port — unheeding,  uncaring,  not  even 
inquiring  where  or  when  the  voyage  would  end.  And  thus 
they  did  drift  for  many  weeks.  But  even  the  longest  and 
most  idyllic  voyage  must  end,  in  port,  or  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea. 

For  several  days  Vergie  had  seen  that  the  crisis  was 
coming  when  she  would  have  to  say  "Yes"  to  Simonson's 
pleading  for  a  formal  engagement,  or — "No." 

But  for  her  vow  to  her  mother,  she  told  herself,  her 
answer  must  of  necessity  be  an  instant  and  joyful — "Yes!" 

Not  that  she  had  forgotten  her  lover's  humble  origin,  but 
— "none  of  that  applies  to  Simonson,"  had  been  her  haughty 
and  aristocratic  father's  edict,  and  with  her  her  father's 
word  usually  was  all-decisive.  Nor  had  she  forgotten  that 


VERGIE'S  ABSOLUTION  435 

before  the  raucous,  ribald  mob  he  had  openly  disowned  her. 
But  it  is  so  easy  for  a  woman  in  love  to  forgive — and  be 
sides,  though  he  had  said  "Marjorie,"  she  was  now  con 
vinced  that  he  had  meant  "Vergie." 

Thus  now  that  her  heart  and  reason — and,  possibly,  just 
a  bit  of  sweet  sophistry — were  buttressed  and  bastioned  by 
her  father's  good  opinion,  and  her  brother's  enthusiastic 
advocacy,  she  felt  her  answer  must  be  in  accord  with  her 
lover's  desire.  But  always,  when  this  decision  was  reached, 
the  vow  and  curse  which  in  her  wrath  against  him,  at  the 
time  she  had  voluntarily  pronounced  upon  herself  if  she 
ever  violated  it,  would  rise  and  confront  her. 

Still,  how  could  she  give  him  up?  See  him  claimed  by 
another,  perhaps  by  Marjorie,  now  that  she  was  free?  See 
his  children  by  another. 

No,  no!  She  could  not  have  it  so.  He  belonged  to  her. 
Another  should  not  have  him.  Should — not!  She  would 
have  him — she  would!  Then  her  vow  to  her  mother  would 
rise  before  her,  and  the  curse  pronounced  by  her  own  lips 
on  herself  if  she  ever  married  him. 

Thus  she  was  often  almost  driven  to  madness  between 
the  two  diametrically  opposed  conclusions:  "I  must  have 
him!"  "I  can't  have  him!"  It  was  the  old  problem  in 
physics  brought  into  the  arena  of  metaphysics :  "If  an  irre 
sistible  force  encounters  an  immovable  body,  what  will  be 
the  result?" 

Her  torment  was  augmented  by  the  distress  of  her  lover, 
who  had  taken  alarm,  noting  her  preoccupation  and  appar 
ent  coldness  and  reserve,  and  was  pressing  his  suit  with  all 
the  ardor  and  wistfulness  that  are  born  of  dread  and  fear, 
and  that  are  so  delicious  to  the  woman  that  knows  the  happi 
ness  she  is  about  to  bestow,  but  terrible  to  the  conscientious 
woman  that  is  undecided  as  to  what  her  answer  will  be. 

At  last  she  worried  herself  into  a  headache,  with  the  solu- 


426  AMERICANS  ALU 

tion  of  her  difficulty  no  nearer  than  it  was  at  first.  She 
must  have  counsel — of  that  she  was  convinced.  In  her  sur 
render  to  necessity  there  was  an  element  of  pathos,  for  with 
her  strong  nature  and  resolute  spirit,  she  was  accustomed 
to  righting  her  battles  alone.  But  now  she  confessed, 
with  a  pathetic  quiver  of  her  lips,  that  she  was  hopelessly 
confused. 

But  to  whom  could  she  appeal?  A  woman's  first  thought, 
when  in  trouble,  is  of  the  church,  and  it  was  so  with  Ver- 
gie.  Yes;  she  would  see  Bishop  Johns,  and  at  once  made 
ready  to  go  to  the  Episcopal  residence.  At  the  last  moment, 
however,  she  changed  her  mind.  The  church,  she  felt, 
would  not  understand  her  case;  besides,  churchmen  school 
themselves  to  repression,  self-crucifixion,  rigid  adherence 
to  fixed  rules  and  formulas,  regardless  of  pain  or  personal 
loss ;  hence  are  lacking  in  warm  and  generous  sympathy. 
In  this  she  may  have  been  mistaken,  probably  was;  never 
theless  she  acted  on  it,  and  abandoned  her  visit. 

She  next  thought  of  Mrs.  Davis :  why  not  open  her  heart 
to  the  President's  kind  and  experienced  wife?  But  the 
suggestion  was  soon  dismissed.  Women  are  rarely  frankly 
confidential  with  one  another;  their  appetency  and  genius 
for  loving  seem  to  incapacitate  them  for  the  more  prosaic 
and  less  highly  romantic  offices  of  friendship.  Damon  and 
Pythias  have  no  female  counterparts.  Vergie  was  afraid 
Mrs.  Davis  would  be  harsh.  Women  are  prone  to  apothe 
osize  the  men  who  demonize  their  sisters.  This  is  a  hard 
world  for  woman ;  women  make  it  so. 

To  whom,  then,  could  she  go  for  advice.  Naturally,  one 
would  say,  "Why  not  to  her  father?"  For  the  reason  that 
young  people  instinctively  refrain  from  confiding  their 
amours  to  their  parents.  Courtship  is  fraught  with  peril, 
especially  to  the  girl ;  and  though  parents  have  braved 
them,  they  are  unwilling  that  their  children  should  take  the 


VERGIE'S  ABSOLUTION  437 

same  risks.  However,  since  the  death  of  Vergie's  mother 
she  and  her  father  had  become  increasingly  confidential, 
drawn  to  each  other  by  a  common  loneliness  and  sorrow ; 
and  she  now  resolved  to  tell  her  father  the  precise  situation, 
and  abide  by  his  advice. 

Her  father  was  not  in  wheo  she  called  at  the  Spotswood 
House.  No  one  knew  where  he  had  gone  or  when  he  would 
return.  "Would  Miss  Culpepper  leave  a  message?"  She 
was  deeply  distressed,  but  declined  to  leave  any  word ;  pos 
sibly  she  would  return  later.  No,  she  would  wait  if  some 
one  would  show  her  to  his  room — no,  she  would  leave  word 
for  him  to  come  to  see  her  immediately  upon  his  return ; 
and  this,  finally,  she  did. 

An  hour  later  her  father  rushed  into  her  room.  Her  mes 
sage  had  greatly  alarmed  him  and  he  had  come  post-haste. 
"Thank  God,  Daughter!"  when  assured  that  she  was  well, 
and  that  Harold  was  all  right,  and  that  the  young  lawyer 
was  "as  good  as  new,"  and  that  no  ill-word  had  come  from 
New  Richmond,  "after  all,  there's  nothing  wrong." 

"But  there  is  something  wrong,  Papa,"  now  taking  refuge 
in  tears,  "and  it's  serious,  too." 

Then  she  told  her  father  of  her  last  interview  with  her 
mother ;  of  her  mother's  inherent  dislike  of  the  young  law 
yer;  of  her  mother's  premonition  that  he  would  become  a 
suitor  for  her  hand  in  marriage ;  and,  finally,  of  the  vow 
her  mother  had  exacted  of  her  never  to  marry  him,  and 
of  the  curse  she  had  voluntarily  pronounced  upon  herself 
if,  for  any  cause,  she  should  fail  to  live  up  to  her  vow. 

"Well — and  now?"  The  Doctor  had  risen  and  was  look 
ing  out  on  Clay  Street,  deeply  moved  by  his  daughter's 
agitation,  and  newly  awakened  memories  of  his  beloved 
Charlotte. 

"Papa,  you  know.  You  must  have  guessed  it  Christmas 
night,  and  had  your  guess  confirmed  daily  since  then.  All 


428  AMERICANS  ALD 

that  Mama  feared  has  come  to  pass.  The  man  she  so  hated 
has  become  a  suitor  for  my  hand,  and  has  won  my  heart. 
He  is  now  waiting  for  my  answer.  Oh,  Papa,  is  my  vow 
inviolable?  Must  I  put  away  the  one  great  happiness  of 
my  life?  Even  you,  yourself,  like  the  young  lawyer  ;  repeat 
edly  you  have  said  so.  Harold  likes  him,  too ;  says  he's  the 
only  man  he  ever  met  he'd  be  willing  for  me  to  marry ;  and 
— and  /  love  him!  Tell  me,  Papa,  is  there  no  way  out  of 
my  trouble?" 

"Vergie,  my  darling,"  taking  both  her  hands  and  kissing 
them,  like  the  gallant  gentleman  of  the  old  school  he  was, 
"what  you  tell  me  distresses  me  exceedingly.  I  should  have 
been  more  mindful  of  you,  especially  since  you  are  a  mother 
less  little  girl;  but  my  own  sorrow,  I  fear,  has  made  me 
selfish  and  neglectful.  Then  Harold " 

"But,  Papa!"  Her  case  was  too  urgent,  and  her  distress 
was  too  poignant,  for  circumlocution.  "Papa,  dear,  answer 
me!  Must  I  say  'Yes,'  or "  She  could  not  bring  her 
self  to  utter  the  alternative. 

"Then,  Vergie,  if  you  must  have  my  answer  at  once,  I 
grieve  to  say  it  must  be  'No' ;  you  cannot  marry  Simonson." 

"Oh,  you  cruel  papa !"  She  broke  down  and  sobbed  con 
vulsively.  Dr.  Culpepper  was  too  wise  to  attempt  to  say 
more  till  her  anguish  had  somewhat  abated.  Presently, 
however,  he  said : 

"Daughter,  you  haven't  told  me  why  your  precious 
mother  exacted  of  you  such  an  unusual  vow.  Won't  you 
tell  me  now?" 

"It  was  be-because  he  is  1-low-born,  Papa.  But  you  said 
that  doesn't  count  with  him." 

"I  know  I  did,  Daughter,  but  your  mother's  judgment 
always  was  better  than  mine.  I  spoke  on  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  for  I  do  like  Simonson  ;  but  your  mother  doubt 
less  had  ample  reasons  for  the  course  she  pursued.  Mothers 


VERGIE-S  ABSOLUTION  439 

see  farther  into  the  future  than  fathers,  especially  when  a 
daughter's  happiness  is  at  stake. 

"But,  Papa,  is  prejudice  a  good  and  sufficient  reason?" 

"Daughter,  no  woman  was  ever  freer  from  prejudice  than 
your  sainted  mother." 

"What  was  it,  then,  if  it  wasn't  prejudice?" 

"I  can  only  surmise,  my  darling.  Shall  I  tell  you  some 
of  the  considerations  that  probably  actuated  your  mother?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Papa,  for  my  heart  is  breaking." 

"Well — and  now  I  begin  to  see  clearly — there  was  the 
matter  of  social  position.  It  is  true  that  in  marrying  Simon- 
son  you  wouldn't  marry  the  whole  Simonson  family ;  never 
theless,  willy-nilly,  you  would  be  incorporated  in  the  Simon- 
son  family,  and  would  become  one  of  them. 

"But  you,  my  daughter,  are  an  aristocrat  from  toe-tip  to 
tip-top,  and,  despite  yourself,  would  come  to  hate  your  hus 
band's  people;  and  inevitably  they  would  hate  you.  And, 
Daughter  dear,  in  these  sad  times,  when  bourgeoisie  van 
dals  are  seeking  to  level  all  social  conditions,  actually  pro 
posing  that  whites  and  black  should  intermarry,  many  have 
lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  a  girl  would  better  commit  suicide 
than  marry  a  man  below  the  class  to  which  she  belongs — as 
you  would  be  doing  were  you  to  marry  Abe  Simonson's  son. 

"Doubtless  your  mother,  too,  had  thought  of  the  children 
the  good  God  might  bless  you  with ;  but  children  born  of 
the  union  you  contemplate  would  incorporate  the  Simonsons 
in  our  family." 

Vergie  now  remembered  that  her  mother  had  used  the 
identical  words  her  father  now  used.  However,  her  heart 
was  too  much  enlisted  to  meekly  surrender. 

"But,  Papa,  do  not  all  families  have  humble  beginnings? 
Think  how  often  men  and  women  of  lowliest  birth  have 
risen  to  great  renown  in  art  and  letters,  warfare  and  states- 
craft;  how  men  like  Napoleon  have  battled  upward  from 


430  AMERICANS  ALD 

hovel  to  monarch's  throne  and  sceptre;  how  deepest  pov 
erty  sometimes  ascends  to  greatest  wealth !  Who  knows  but 
Samuel  Simonson  is  to  become  the  founder  of  a  great  and 
glorious  house?  And  we  Culpeppers,  Papa — are  we  not 
descended  from  a  wild  Indian?  And  do  you  not  boast  that 
you  are  descended  from  Pocahontas?  And  in  jest  have  you 
not  often  called  me  Princess  Zohanozoheton  ?  And  haven't 
ive  turned  out  pretty  well  ?" 

Vergie  was  greatly  excited.  Her  eyes  flashed,  and  a  bril 
liant  glow  was  in  her  cheeks.  She  felt  she  must  not  fail — 
she  had  so  much  at  stake. 

"Vergie,  precious  little  lambkin,"  very  gravely,  "your 
father  will  not  argue  with  you.  I'll  answer  your  question  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  out  of  a  loving  heart — that's  all  I  can 
do.  You  will  then  act  according  to  your  own  best  judg 
ment;  but  whatever  course  you  may  pursue,  you  will 
always  have  your  father's  love  and  blessing." 

"O  Papa,  dearest  Papa!  You're  the  dearest  old  papa 
that  ever  lived."  Again  she  had  thrown  her  arms  about 
her  father's  neck. 

"And  your  answer  is ?" 

"There  is  no  absolution  from  your  vow;  the  only  one 
able  to  absolve  you  from  it,  alas !  is  dead." 

Quietly  he  withdrew.  He  couldn't  bear  to  witness  his 
daughter's  misery — and  yet  he  felt  he  had  said  and  done 
no  more  than  was  his  duty. 

As  he  descended  the  stairs  he  was  more  than  ever  con 
vinced  that  he  had  spoken  wisely;  and  prayed  that  his 
daughter  might  heed  his  words,  remember  her  mother's 
warning  admonition,  and  at  last  come  to  a  decision  that 
would  be  honorable  alike  to  both  the  living  and  the  dead. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  Spotswood  House  he  was 
able  to  congratulate  himself  on  his  excellent  work,  and  to 


VERGIE'S  ABSOLUTION  431 

predict  that  very  soon  everything  would  be  correctly  and 
happily  adjusted. 

But  the  imperious  descendant  of  King  Razometah  and 
Princess  Zohanozoheton  now  was  thoroughly  aroused. 

She  revered  her  mother's  memory,  but — her  mother  had 
wronged  her. 

She  did  not  blame  her  mother,  but — a  vow  so  exacted, 
under  such  terrible  pressure,  could  not  possibly  be  binding. 

Her  frightful  oath  could  not  be  held  against  her,  because 
at  the  time  she  had  made  it  she  was  not  a  free  moral  agent. 

She  would  see  the  President.  He  was  grave ;  he  was 
conscientious ;  he  was  profoundly  religious ;  he  was  a  great 
scholar  and  widely  read ;  he  was  skilled  in  casuistry ;  often 
he  had  had  to  make  momentous  decisions  on  which  hung 
life  and  death,  and  he  had  promptly  and  bravely  made  them, 
regardless  of  the  wrath  or  praise  of  men.  Yes ;  she  would 
see  the  President  immediately. 

Fortunately,  he  was  at  leisure.  Seated  in  his  library,  he 
was  reading  a  well-worn  copy  of  Thucydides.  A  volume 
of  Plutarch  was  at  his  elbow.  She  plunged  at  once  into  her 
story  and,  Culpepper-like,  told  everything. 

Of  her  mother  she  spoke  reverently ;  nevertheless,  she 
declared  her  mind  frankly — innocently,  yet  grievously,  she 
had  wronged  her  daughter. 

Of  her  oath-confirmed  vow  she  declared  herself  already 
absolved,  because,  at  the  time  she  had  pledged  and  for 
sworn  herself,  she  was  not  a  free  moral  agent. 

Of  her  affair  writh  the  young  lawyer  she  declared  every 
thing,  without  omission  of  jot  or  tittle :  she  herself  had 
taken  the  initiative  because  she  loved  him ;  she  had  taught 
him  to  love  her;  after  her  vow  to  her  mother  she  had  tried 
to  hate  him,  but  had  not  succeeded ;  now,  boundlessly  happy 
in  each  other's  love,  a  vow  stood  in  their  way  "and  forbade 
further  progress ;  that  vow  she  was  resolved  to  disregard. 


432  AMERICANS  ALD 

"If  I'm  in  error,"  she  concluded,  "if  I've  acted  unmaid- 
enly,  if  I've  thought,  said,  or  done  aught  for  which  I  should 
repent,  tell  me  so  frankly — with  your  reasons.  Do  not 
praise  or  flatter  me — the  way  men  have  of  evading  truth 
in  the  presence  of  a  woman. 

"  'Speak  of  me  as  I  am ;  nothing  extenuate, 

Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice;  then  must  thou  speak 

Of  me  that  loved  not  wisely,  but  too  well.'  " 

It  sounds  theatrical,  melodramatic ;  but  so  might  Vergie's 
Indian  ancestress  have  spoken  in  a  like  distress,  had  she 
had  the  education  and  culture  of  her  no  less  inflammable 
and  determined  descendant. 

Very  gently  the  President  dealt  with  Charlotte  Culpep- 
per's  daughter.  It  was  a  case  that  appealed  to  him — as 
casuist,  cavalier,  churchman,  theologian,  politician. 

He  declared  his  lifelong  love  for  her  mother,  but  recog 
nized  her  fallibility.  "Even  the  best  of  mothers,  the  most 
loving  and  devoted,  sometimes  err  in  judgment,"  was  one 
of  his  remarks. 

As  casuist,  he  observed  that  because  one  conscience  is 
insufficient  for  the  guidance  of  two  persons,  each  person 
has  a  complete,  separate,  private,  personal,  individual  con 
science  of  his  own — and  to  his  own  private,  personal,  indi 
vidual  conscience,  and  to  that  alone,  must  each  person  yield 
absolute  and  unquestioning  obedience. 

As  cavalier  he  reminded  her  that  the  class  to  which  her 
father  belonged  was  passing,  and  from  that  standpoint  a 
good  man  of  the  Simonson  stamp  was,  other  things  being 
equal,  to  be  preferred. 

As  politician,  he  pointed  out  the  ebb-tide  of  the  old  Vir 
ginia  families — Washingtons,  Jeffersons,  Madisons,  Mon 
roes — and  the  flood-tide  of  honest  and  aspiring  plebeians, 
the  most  notable  example  of  whom  being  the  President  yon- 


VERGIE  '8  ABSOLUTION  433 

der,  referring  to  Mr.  Lincoln,  a  man  of  nebulous  and  uncer 
tain  ancestry,  yet  exalted  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  human 
ambition — all  of  which  was  in  her  lover's  favor. 

As  theologian,  he  had  nothing  to  say,  since  theology  deals 
with  broad  fundamental  principles,  and  not  with  intricate 
specific  cases. 

Finally,  as  churchman — but  he  wouldn't  tire  her  with 
arguments  pro  and  con,  or  the  verdicts  of  synods  and  coun 
cils,  which  were  often  contradictory,  always  exparte,  occa 
sionally  cruel,  sometimes  absurd. 

"But  my  case,  Mr.  President,"  Vergie  exclaimed. 

The  President  had  spoken  so  gently,  with  such  grace  and 
rhythm  of  diction  and  inflection,  and  with  such  fullness  of 
knowledge  and  experience,  for  many  minutes  she  had  for 
gotten  the  urgency  of  her  petition,  and  the  gravity  of  the 
decision  she  had  implored  him  to  render. 

"We've  already  reached  your  case,  daughter,  and  dis 
posed  of  it,"  with  a  grave  smile  and  gracious  inclination  of 
the  head. 

"Why — when,  Mr.  President?"  Vergie  was  suddenly 
confused.  Had  she  stupidly  fallen  asleep?  And  at  the  most 
vital  moment,  too,  and  lost  the  all-important  dictum? 
"When,  Mr.  President?"  she  repeated. 

"When  I  spoke,  daughter,  of  the  supreme  allegiance  we 
owe  to  our  own  private,  personal,  individual  conscience.  At 
all  hazards,  Vergie,  you  must  be  loyal — not  to  my  con 
science,  or  Fairfax's  conscience,  or  your  dear  dead  mother's 
conscience,  but — to  your  own  conscience. 

"However,"  he  continued,  "I  have  read  in  some  old  anti 
quated  volume  of  a  scheme,  devised  by  pious  saints,  for  the 
strengthening  and  comforting  of  troubled  consciences  such 
as  yours — satisfied,  indeed,  as  to  the  righteousness  of  the 
conscience-verdict,  yet  agitated  and  distressed  owing  to 
conditions,  circumstances,  associations,  or  ancestral  teach- 


434  AMERICANS  ALL. 

ings  and  beliefs — what  might  be  called  the  momentum  of 
discarded  ideas.  Shall  I  give  it  to  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  President.  I'm  certain  that  I'm  right,  yet 
I  am  greatly  disturbed  and  distressed." 

"Very  well.  It  is  this:  When  vows  of  an  extraordinary 
character  have  been  made,  under  pressure  such  as  practi 
cally  robbed  the  vower  of  volition,  and  oaths  have  been 
sworn  under  like  pressure,  or  under  misapprehension  or 
misinformation,  or  when  laboring  under  stress  of  passion, 
or  judgment-destroying  excitement,  and  the  witness  thereto, 
or  the  recipient  thereof,  subsequently  dies,  or  permanently 
disappears  in  such  a  manner  as  to  warrant  the  presumption 
that  the  party  exacting  said  oath  or  vow,  or  witnessing 
thereto,  is  dead — then  the  nearest  of  kin,  being  cognizant  of 
all  the  facts  in  the  case,  and  being  persuaded  in  their  own 
minds,  approved  by  their  consciences,  that  the  plea  of  the 
appellant  for  release  from  said  vow  or  oath,  or  both,  should, 
and  of  right,  ought  to  be  granted — then  said  kinsmen,  being 
of  sound  mind  and  good  report,  may  decree  the  dissolution 
of  said  vow,  oath,  or  obligation,  of  whatsoever  report  or 
character,  so  that  thereafter  it  shall  be  no  longer  binding." 

Vergie  was  puzzled,  though  she  had  listened  with  deep 
attention. 

"Please,  Uncle  Jeffey,  may  I  state  it  as  I  understand  it?" 

"Certainly,  Daughter." 

"The  supreme,  all-decisive  verdict,  in  the  case  now  under 
consideration,  must  be  rendered  by  my  own,  private,  per 
sonal,  individual  conscience.  Am  I  right?" 

The  President  bowed  affirmatively. 

"Anything  yourself,  or  Papa,  or  Bishop  Johns,  or  any 
other  person  may  say,  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding?" 

Again  the  President  bowed,  adding,  "Upon  the  assump 
tion  that  you  are  of  sound  mind,  and  have  reached  the  age 
of  accountability." 


VERGIE'S  ABSOLUTION  435 

"Then  my  decision,  all-determinative,  may  be  ratified  and 
confirmed — though  not  necessarily — by  two  of  my  kinsmen, 
thereby  giving  my  conscience-verdict,  which  can  neither  be 
appealed  from  or  repealed,  a  sort  of  visible  validity,  of  men 
judicial  recognition  and  sanction?" 

"You  have  clearly  stated  the  essential  facts." 

"Then,  my  conscience  having  rendered  its  verdict,  and 
that  verdict  having  been  approved  by  two  kinsmen,  I  have 
the  constitutional,  supreme-judicial,  before-men  right,  before 
God  and  man  to  consider,  and  declare,  myself  absolved  from 
the  oath-confirmed  vow  I  made  to  my  mother,  of  precious 
memory,  and  from  peril  of  the  disapproval  or  disfavor  of 
God."  ' 

Once  more  the  President  bowed. 

"l^nd  will  you  be  one  of  my  judicial  kinsmen  to  confirm 
and  declare  my  absolution?" 

To  Vergie's  surprise  but  great  joy  the  President  took  her 
hand,  and  devoutly  said :  "Yes ;  with  all  my  heart." 

"And — will  you  persuade  my  dearest,  dear  papa,  our  dar 
ling  Quoth  Horace,  to  be  my  other  absolving  kinsman  ?  You 
have  so  much  influence  with  Papa;  and  if  he  should  have 
objections  you  would  know  how  to  meet  them." 

The  President  hesitated  but  a  moment.  "Yes,  Vergie,  for 
Charlotte's  sake  I  will  see  your  father.  As  to  whether  you 
should  marry  Simonson  I  have  nothing  to  say — here  again 
you  must  decide  for  yourself.  I  will  say,  however,  that 
since  he's  been  my  prisoner  I  have  studied  him  closely,  and  I 
admire  him  greatly — all  except  his  abominable  political  here 
sies,"  with  a  humorously  wry  face.  "And  should  you  con 
clude  to  honor  him  with  your  hand  in  marriage  you  may 
count  on  my  blessing,  and  the  good  wishes  of  all  my  house 
hold — and  this  includes  the  servants,  whose  hearts  he  has 
completely  won." 


436  AMERICANS  ALL» 

"Glory  be!"  Vergie  exclaimed.  But  a  moment  later  she 
asked  herself,  "Why  did  I  say  that?" 

It  had  been  her  father's  oft-repeated  expression  the  after 
noon  and  evening  he  had  celebrated  the  Confederate  victory 
at  Fredericksburg,  and  it  brought  to  her  mind  the  young 
lawyer's  prostrate  form  on  the  ground,  and  his  turning  from 
her,  in  what  had  seemed  to  be  his  dying  moment,  to  Marjorie 
Gildersleeve. 

"Oh,  why  did  I  think  of  that  speech?" 

The  President  immediately  sent  his  carriage  to  the  Spots- 
wood  House  to  fetch  the  Doctor. 

Dr.  Culpepper,  still  glowing  with  pleasurable  excitement 
over  his  successful  settlement  of  his  daughter's  perplexities, 
was  at  once  ushered  into  the  President's  presence  only  to 
learn  that  his  settlement  utterly  refused  to  remain  settled ; 
and  that  his  success  had  been  a  huge  H0«-success. 

At  first  the  Doctor  was  very  angry,  but  the  President  knew 
how  to  mollify  and  persuade  him ;  and,  in  the  end,  he  was 
won  over. 

An  hour  later — it  was  now  midnight — with  Vergie  rever 
ently  kneeling  before  them,  and  with  their  hands  none  the 
less  reverently  placed  upon  her  head,  they  pronounced  her 
absolution,  uttering  in  unison  the  following  words: 

"We,  your  kinsmen,  being  conversant  with  all  the  facts 
in  this  case,  do  absolve  you,  Virginia  Lee,  from  the  vow 
made  to  your  sainted  motber,  now  at  rest  in  heaven;  also 
from  the  oath  which  you,  at  the  same  time,  did  take — 
believing  that  this  act  of  our's  will  meet  with  the  approval 
and  blessing  of  Almighty  God.  Amen." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HAROLD    CULPEPPER    ESCAPES — MARRIES    AND   WRITES 
A  LETTER 

SUCH  a  tempest  of  emotion  as  that  which  had  tossed 
Vergie  several  days  must  necessarily  sooner  or  later 
subside.  Hence  when  Vergie  had  felt  herself  verily  absolved 
from  her  oath-confirmed  vow,  and  her  engagement  to  the 
young  lawyer  had  been  ratified  by  her  father  and  her  brother, 
and  received  with  favor  by  the  President  and  his  house 
hold,  including  the  servants — for  all  the  world  loves  a  lover — 
there  had  followed  the  natural  subsidence  to  a  state  more 
nearly  normal. 

Depression  usually  follows  exaltation,  especially  when  the 
nerves  have  long  been  taut  with  an  absorbing  desire  and  an 
almost  insuperable  obstacle  has  periled  its  realization;  and 
such  would  have  been  the  case  with  Vergie  but  for  her  great 
viltality  and  exuberant  health.  As  it  was  there  was  only  a 
passing  from  distress  to  repose — like  that  of  the  imper 
turbable  general  who,  after  a  mighty  battle,  surveys  the 
field,  counts  the  cost,  and  estimates  the  value  of  the  victory. 

But  if  Vergie  was  not  depressed  she  was  very  much 
sobered,  and  rendered  keenly  introspective  and  retrospective. 
Her  virile  mind,  furiously  driven  many  days,  refused  to  come 
to  a  dead  standstill  at  once  but  proceeded,  of  its  own  volition, 
to  weigh  and  estimate  things  with  greater  exactness  than 
was  her  custom. 

In  most  respects,  she  concluded,  she  had  nothing  to  regret. 
She  was  sorry  she  had  rebelled  against  her  father's  decision, 

437 


438  AMERICANS  ALI> 

but  that  had  been  unavoidable ;  besides  her  father  had  con 
fessed  that  his  judgment  had  been  swerved  by  his  love  for  his 
precious  Charlotte.  Too,  there  was  in  her  heart  a  gentle 
sorrow  on  account  of  her  rebellion  against  her  mother's 
edict;  but  here  again,  she  argued,  her  mother  had  been  in 
error  in  exacting  the  vow,  and  permitting,  without  protest, 
the  almost  sacrilegious  oath — the  President  himself  had  said 
as  much.  On  these  points,  matters  of  conscience,  she  con 
cluded  she  was  perfectly  satisfied. 

But  the  young  lawyer,  now  that  he  had  become  her  hus 
band-elect,  came  in  for  a  closer  inspection ;  as  women  usu 
ally  first  buy  goods  and  take  them  home  before  giving  them  a 
thorough  examination. 

Of  her  love  for  him,  and  that  he  would  be  to  her  an  ideal 
husband,  she  entertained  not  a  single  doubt;  and  that  they 
would  be  supremely  happy  together  was  as  certain  as  that 
two  plus  two  equal  four,  not  knowing  that  in  lovers'  affairs 
nothing  can  be  taken  for  granted,  and  that  even  the  exact 
sciences  sometimes  run  amuck. 

Yes,  she  loved  her  fiance  with  all  her  heart ;  that  much 
was  certain.  She  was  absolved  from  her  distressing  oath- 
confirmed  vow  to  her  mother ;  that  was  a  blessed  consumma 
tion.  She  was  to  be  the  young  lawyer's  wife ;  ah,  happy  reali 
zation  of  all  her  dreams ! 

Still,  try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  repress  a  lingering 
regret  that  her  lover  did  not  belong  to  the  Davis-Lee-Cul- 
pepper  class.  True,  tphere  was  no  visible  line  of  separation 
or  demarcation ;  nevertheless  she  knew  there  was  such  a  line, 
and  now  she  could  feel  it.  It  was  not  his  fault  he  was  a 
Simonson,  any  more  than  it  was  her  merit  she  was  a  Cul- 
pepper,  but  the  thought  was  there  and  she  couldn't  wholly 
dismiss  it. 

Then  some  of  the  epithets  to  which  she  had  given  free  rein 
during  their  estrangement  now  returned  to  vex  her.  In  those 


HAEOLD  CULPEPPEK  ESCAPES  439 

days  when,  humiliated  by  his  seeming  rejection  of  her  and 
turning  to  Marjorie,  and  goaded  on  by  her  mother's  hatred 
of  him,  she  had  found  a  sort  of  savage  relief  in  sneeringly 
calling  him  "that  cracker,"  "scion-upstart  of  the  po'  white 
trash  class,"  "glorious  son  of  Simonson  the  Drunkard-Con 
vict,  low-born  and  contemptible,"  and  similar  fiercely  derog 
atory  cognomens ;  and  now  whenever  she  would  try  to  hero- 
ize  and  idealize  him,  after  a  maiden's  fancy  and  fashion,  this 
horrid  brood  of  epithets  would  rush  in  and  take  possession 
of  her  mind. 

Nor  could  she  wholly  dismiss  the  thought  of  his  people. 
True,  the  young  lawyer  had  little  fellowship  with  them,  and 
but  rarely  referred  to  them ;  still,  they  were  his  people  and, 
once  his  wife,  they  would  be  hers  also.  But  how  could  she 
ever  darken  their  threshold,  or  permit  them  to  darken  hers, 
or  even  hear  their  names  mentioned  without  a  feeling  of 
revulsion  ? 

Children.  Here  her  perplexity  defied  solution.  Of  course 
she  would  have  children  ;  she  was  sane  and  normal  and  there 
fore  wanted  children.  But  Simonson  children !  To  become 
the  mother  of  Abe  Simonson's  grandchildren — horrors !  Of 
course  the  old  reprobate  would  insist  on  coming  to  see  them  ; 
and  how  could  she  deny  him  the  privilege  ?  And  more  than 
likely  they'd  want  to  visit  their  grandparents — why  not? 

All  this  was  bad  enough;  but  one  day  in  the  President's 
library  she  came  across  Velotti's  Reversion  to  Type.  The 
revelations  of  this  book  were  to  her  maddening.  There  she 
learned  that  Nature,  in  freakish  mood,  sometimes  decrees 
that  children  shall  be  replicas,  facially,  morally,  tempera 
mentally — not  of  their  parents  but  of  some  ancestor,  grand 
father  or  grandmother,  or  a  blend  of  both ;  and  she  was  cer 
tain  this  would  be  the  case  with  her  children.  But  how 
could  she  endure  such  a  fate?  Mother  of  a  brood  of  Abe- 
Simonson  children ! 


440  AMERICANS  ALB 

There  was  yet  another  disturbing  thought.  After  all  had 
her  lover  always  been  true  to  her?  True  this  thought  was 
not  insistent,  nor  did  it  grapple  her;  in  fact,  it  touched  her 
only  occasionally,  and  then  only  as  a  phantom  might  touch 
the  lightest  sleeper  without  waking  him ;  nevertheless  it  was 
disturbing  and  had  in  it  an  element  of  pain. 

However,  once  in  her  lover's  presence  all  doubts  and  fears 
were  forgotten ;  as  her  presence  also  banished  from  him  his 
equally  secret,  and  no  less  disturbing,  doubts  and  fears  re 
garding  himself.  They  were  both  young,  good  to  look  upon, 
intensely  vital ;  what  wonder  they  found  exquisite  nepenthe 
in  chaste  and  honorable  loverly  intimacies,  and  all  in  a  sacred 
privacy  the  propriety  of  which  none  could  question? 

Thus  apparently  everything  was  tranquil  and  everybody 
was  happy.  Harold  was  more  than  well,  to  use  his  own 
exuberant  expression ;  Simonson,  in  civilian  dress,  and  bear 
ing  a  pass  signed  by  the  President,  at  last  was  able  to  take 
long  rides,  usually  accompanied  by  Vergie,  far  into  the  coun 
try  ;  Dr.  Culpepper  had  become  a  great  social  favorite  among 
the  elite  of  the  Confederate  Capital ;  the  President  was  enjoy 
ing  a  respite  from  his  tormenting  neuralgia ;  Confederate 
generals  and  congressmen  had  lost  some  of  their  former 
acerbity  of  speech  and  manner ;  Washington  was  still  unable 
to  find  a  commander  able  to  cope  with  the  yet  invincible  Lee  ; 
and  with  the  brilliant  pre-summer  weather  that  always  comes 
to  Richmond  in  February  the  Executive  Mansion  was  the 
center  of  a  constant  round  of  gay  fetes.  They  were  on 
the  threshold  of  great  and  awful  defeats — The  Wilderness, 
Spottsylvania,  Cold  Harbor,  Atlanta,  Winchester,  Mobile 
Bay — but  their  eyes  were  holden. 

A  new  man  had  arrived— U.  S.  GRANT. 

As  at  Brussels  they  danced  the  hours  away,  happily  igno 
rant  of  the  pending  Waterloo-tragedy,  so  at  Richmond  there 
was  "no  rest  till  morn  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet,  to 


HAROLD  nULPEPPER  ESCAPES  441 

chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet"  throughout  the 
memorable  January  and  February,  '64.  Alas !  that  so  many 
hearts,  beating  high  with  hope  and  ardor  and  thrilled  by 
woman's  thralling  and  entrancing  wit  and  beauty,  were  soon 
to  no  more  know  the  sweets  of  love ;  and  lips,  all-eloquent 
with  the  poesy  and  necromancy  of  passion,  should  already — 
though  they  knew  it  not — be  parted  to  wail  miserere  swan- 
songs  punctuated  with  death-gasps,  with  grim  death  the  final 
period. 

Amid  the  whirl  of  all  this  feverish  military  and  epauletted 
gaiety  Major  Culpepper  vanished.  Had  he  dematerialized 
in  their  presence  his  departure  would  have  been  less  mysteri 
ous;  they  would  have  known  the  time  and  manner  of  his 
going.  As  it  was  they  had  not  a  single  clue. 

As  to  reasons,  there  were  none ;  at  least  they  knew  of  none. 
He  had  won  the  good  graces  of  all  the  members  of  Mr. 
Davis'  household ;  only  the  delicacy  of  a  host  had  prevented 
the  President  from  securing  his  exchange;  he  was  known 
to  be  persona  gratissima  to  one  of  Richmond's  richest  and 
handsomest  belles  in  whom,  apparently,  he  was  interested, 
and  to  whom  Vergie  had  prayed  he  might  speedily  lose  his 
heart,  and  thus  end  a  certain  other  romance  that  was  to  her 
in  every  way  exceedingly  revolting.  Nevertheless  he  was 
gone,  leaving  not  a  single  trace,  hint,  or  clue — all  of  which 
was  thoroughly  Culpepperesque. 

Doubtless  he  had  returned  to  New  Richmond,  for  which 
the  way  was  open.  He  had  a  pass  signed  by  President 
Davis ;  he  was  personally  known  to  General  Lee,  and  by  sight 
to  many  officers  who  had  seen  him  at  the  Executive  Mansion  ; 
he  was  well  supplied  with  Federal  money ;  it  was  only  a  few 
miles  to  the  Federal  outpost,  and  but  ninety-eight  miles  to  the 
Federal  capital.  Of  course  he  had  returned  to  New 
Richmond. 

They  also  thought  there  was  a  woman  in  the  case.    Dr. 


442  AMERICANS  ALL, 

Culpepper  was  of  this  opinion  because  there  was  no.  other 
assignable  lure ;  but  he  also  added  that  Harold  had  never 
been  much  of  a  lady's  man,  or  fond  of  society,  else  he  would 
have  remained  in  Richmond.  That  he  had  been  captured  or 
kidnaped  or  killed  none  entertained  a  thought.  He  was  too 
strong  and  masterful,  too  much  like  Vergie,  for  that ;  besides 
he  was  universally  popular.  No,  he  had  returned  to  New 
Richmond. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  two,  Vergie 
or  her  fiance,  was  the  more  agitated  by  this  event.  Had 
Vergie  broken  confidence  with  her  brother  and  proclaimed 
the  woman  Simonson  would  have  had  only  a  secondary  con 
cern,  but  as  it  was  he  was  immediately  conscious  of  a  secret 
fear  that  seriously  threatened  his  happiness ;  for  he  was  cer 
tain  Harold  had  returned  to  marry  Marjorie,  and  to  herald 
the  pending  union  between  his  sister  and  Samuel  Simonson. 

Of  course  this  should  have  made  no  difference  considering 
that  he  was  engaged  to  Virginia  Lee,  and  that  they  were 
soon  to  be  married.  But  it  did  make  a  difference,  painful 
to  relate.  The  only  mitigation  that  can  be  urged,  and  it  must 
be  confessed  it  is  by  no  means  satisfactory,  is  that  many 
otherwise  estimable  people  have  been  in  a  like  predicament ; 
and  some,  pitiable  to  relate,  have  even  gone  to  the  altar  with 
a  secret  hope  that  a  certain  person  might  not  be  present  to 
witness  the  ceremony,  and  to  listen  to  the  responses. 

Happily  for  the  young  lawyer  Vergie  herself  was  too  much 
distressed  to  mark  her  fiance's  preoccupation.  But  Vergie's 
main  thought  was  not  of  Marjorie  but  of  a  certain  Edythe 
Fernleaf,  commonly  yclept,  by  those  who  were  piqued  by  her 
successful  enterprise  and  independent  bearing,  "the  Widow 
Fernleaf,"  though  she  was  a  "widow"  in  name  only. 

That  Harold  had  returned  to  New  Richmond  for  the  pur 
pose  of  marrying  the  grass-widow  she  had  not  the  slightest 
doubt.  But  how  could  she  ever  be  reconciled  to  such  a 


HAEOLD  CULPEPPER  ESCAPES  443 

misalliance?  The  Widow  Fernleaf,  of  the  new  Millinery 
Emporium,  her  sister-in-law  and  Dr.  Fairfax  Culpepper's 
daughter-in-law,  and  their  ex-son-in-law  and  brother-in-law 
in  the  penitentiary!  How  could  Harold  marry  into  such  a 
family? 

Suddenly  the  thought  came  to  her  that  she  was  doing  pre 
cisely  the  same  thing;  how  could  she  reproach  her  brother 
for  marrying  into  the  Fernleaf  family  when  she  herself  was 
about  to  marry  into  the  Simonson  family  ?  She  felt  she  could 
not  breathe,  that  every  drop  of  her  haughty,  honorable,  cava 
lier  blood  was  turning  to  molten  fire  and  searing  every  atom 
of  her  being.  With  shsme  and  rage  was  mingled  remorse, 
and  reproaches  against  herself  which  she  felt  could  not  pos 
sibly  be  bitterer  than  she  deserved. 

From  a  window  she  saw  her  father  coming  down  Twelfth 
Street,  head  erect,  shoulders  thrown  back,  mass  of  snow- 
white  hair  falling  almost  to  his  collar,  ruddy  open  counte 
nance  ;  leisurely  swinging  his  cane,  with  the  easy  grace  of  a 
born  gentleman ;  greeting  a  bevy  of  ladies  with  the  high-bred 
air  of  a  Southern  cavalier  and,  with  a  dignity  that  would 
have  done  honor  to  the  courtly  commander  of  the  Praetorian 
Guard,  answering  the  salute  of  a  passing  Confederate  officer. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  are  Harold  and  I  thinking  of? 
Disgracing  the  House  of  the  Culpeppers  !  Harold  espousing 
the  grass-relict  of  Abijah  Fernleaf,  convict,  and  I — /  the  son 
of  an  ex-convict!  And  Mama — dead!  O  Mama,  forgive 
your  daughter.  You  did  your  best,  dear  precious  Mama,  to 
save  me,  but  I  was  headstrong,  rebellious,  wicked!  And 
poor  Papa,  so  gentle,  so  gracious  and  indulgent,  so  pitiful 
and  merciful — always !  And  I  rode  him  down  a  month  ago, 
trampled  on  him,  appealed  from  him,  my  own  father,  to 
Uncle  Jeffey,  and  got  his  decision  reversed ;  and  all  the  while 
Papa  was  trying  to  save  me!  Oh,  how  I  have  dishonored 


444  AMERICANS  ALL 

him,  and  put  him  to  shame;  and  now — Harold!  Broken 
hearted  over  Mama's  death,  his  precious  Charlotte  as  he  ever 
calls  her,  and  desolate  now  we  complete  the  tragedy,  we  his 
own  children,  and  bring  his  gray  head  in  shame  and  sorrow 
to  the  grave." 

In  the  midst  of  her  harrowing  reflections  Norah,  a  servant, 
entered  with  a  letter.  Vergie  took  it  and  tossed  it  aside. 
How  could  she  ever  read  or  care  again  ?  Ten  more  days  of 
such  torture  and  she  would  be  qualified  for  admission  to  the 
hospital  for  the  insane — ten  days  since  Harold's  disappear 
ance.  Absent-mindedly  she  again  took  up  the  letter  and  idly 
glanced  at  the  superscription.  She  started.  Her  hand  trem 
bled.  It  was  from  Harold.  There  was  a  momentary  thrill 
of  joy  followed  by  a  shiver  of  dreadful  apprehension,  for  the 
postmark  was  New  Richmond. 

Tremblingly  she  broke  the  seal,  the  Culpepper  seal;  evi 
dently  it  had  been  written  from  The  Elms.  The  letter  itself 
was  shockingly  harum-scarum,  ebullient,  slapdash,  while  the 
chirography  was  decidedly  nonchalant.  Harold's  horseman 
ship  was  always  better  than  his  penmanship. 

"THE  ELMS,  NEW  RICHMOND,  ILL. 
February  14,  1864. 

Dearest  Sister — I'm  literally  swimming  in  bliss ;  no,  float 
ing — and  there's  neither  shore,  nor  bottom,  nor  sky-line. 

Observe  the  date,  February  14.  That's  mating  day,  and 
that's  what  we've  done. 

Edythe  didn't  want  to  yet — wanted  to  have  it  postponed 
till  the  folks  returned;  but  I  was  wise,  see?  Afraid  the 
tigress  might  get  on  a  rampage  and  spoil  the  performance, 
and  our  dear  Quoth  Horace  paralyze  the  preacher  with  one 
of  his  snesorics  from  the  Sabine  Bard — that  straight? 

So  I  jis  took  her,  snilly-billy,  round  to  the  Me-ffco-dist 
circus-rider  and  ast  him  if  he  could  enter  us  for  a  double  act, 
life  contract.  Said  he  guessed  he  could — and  bygintinybits, 
he  did.  Mighty  short  and  sweet,  too — no  laces,  or  ruffles, 


HAROLD  CULPEPPEE  ESCAPES  445 

or  frills,  or  fringes,  or  flounces,  or  furbelows,  or  millinery- 
ceremony  for  me.  Edythe  was  all  the  millinery  /  wanted. 

Went  to  old  Frothy 's  first  (Rector  Frothingay)  but  he 
wasn't  at  home,  and,  gottygee,  I  was  some  glad.  Why,  he'd 
been  chewin'  the  dearlybelovedbrethrenitbehoovethus  exhor 
tation  yet.  What  we  wanted  was,  not  injunction,  but 
conjunction ! 

But,  holy  jim  crow,  I  was  frightened  to  a  fuz.  Your 
Uncle  Razometah  trembled  in  me  to  his  toes,  and  my  molars 
chattered  till  I  could  hardly  say  'yes' — said  it  something 
like  this,  'y-y-yes.' 

So  bad  that  the  preacher  got  excited  and  said  to  my 
Edythe,  'D-d-does  your  m-m-man  stut-tut-tut-stutter?' 

Didn't  know  before  that  the  preacher's  tongue  was  hem 
stitched  and  tied  in  a  sailor-knot. 

And  Edythe,  poor  girl,  was  that  embarrassed  she  went 
to  stutterin',  too,  and  said,  'D-d-don't  k-k-know.  Ast  him.' 

Then  all  three  of  us — two  galoots  and  an  angel — got  to 
stutterin'  to  beat  Alex  Smart's  brass  band.  Oh,  Jerusha  put 
the  kittle  on,  what  a  time  we  had ! 

Come  to  find  out  none  of  us  had  a  'stotteren  tunge,'  as 
Fritz  Otelmeyer  would  say — all  happened  kaze  I  was  that 
skeered. 

Oh,  yes,  una  sorella  mia,  quoth  zee  leetF  mas-fat;v,  zee — 
ah,  moo-^ifc  an'  lang-widge'  teach-af/v,  Edythe  and  I  are  at 
The  Elms. 

Edythe  didn't  want  to  come  but  I  jis  fetched  her.  We'll 
occupy  your  room,  the  one  you  know  done  in  pink  and  ivory, 
though  Edythe  won't  touch  one  of  your  things — she's  that 
pertik'ler. 

Present  my  regrets  to  Uncle  Jeffey.  He's  a  good  sort 
but  so  alfired  toplofty  I  was  always  afraid  of  his  Royal  Nibs. 
But  ask  him  to  fix  up  my  exchange  somehow — tell  Uncle 
Sammy  up  at  Wash  that  I'm  sick  and  therefore  cannot  come 
— only  fix  it  up  so  I'll  not  get  shot  for  desertin' ;  for  I'd  hate 
that  like  sam  hill  esquire. 

Break  the  news  in  your  own  gentle  way  to  our  dear  old 
Quoth  Horace,  and  if  he  gets  on  a  high  horse  remind  him 
that  one  of  our  folks  married  an  Injun,  and  that  it's  just  the 
old  Razometah  himself  that's  turned  loose  in  me.  Do  this 


446  AMERICANS  ALL 

for  your  brother,  won't  you,  my  dear  Princess  Zohanozo- 
heton  ? 

Please  let  Edythe  and  me  know  in  advance  the  date 
of  your  return — will  it  be  to  spend  your  honeymoon? — that 
we  may  put  The  Elms  in  apple-pie  order. 

Your  own  deliriously,  snipsnortingly,  uxoriously  happy 
brother — Harold. 

p.S. — Saw  old  Abe  this  afternoon.  Drunk  as  usual,  and 
en  route  to  the  Bastile.  Ast  about  his  Sammy — and — Miss 
Vergie.  Wanted  to  know  how  long  till  he  could  call  you 
'darter.'  You  know  he's  awfully  deef,  so  I  had  to  shriek  so's 
to  be  heard  a  mile :  'RIGHT  AWAY !'  Said  he  was  goin' 
to  bring  his  'Ol'  Worman'  and  pay  you  a  long  visit  soon  as 
you  two  'turtle  doves'  got  home,  as  he  believed  in  kinfolks 
bein'  soshy-o-bul.  And  I  told  him  to  come  right  along,  and 
not  to  forget  his  dog  and  fiddle.  Edythe  was  redheaded  at 
me,  and  said  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself — that  you  and 
my  grand  old  father  would  be  so  ashamed  of  them. 

And  sister,  dear,  SO  WOULD  I ! 

H." 

1  o  say  that  Vergie  was  furious,  or  livid  with  rage,  or  in  a 
towering  passion,  or  any  other  thing  permissible  or  expres 
sible  in  any  known  tongue,  would  be  only  a  shadow  or  hint 
of  her  state  of  mind  when  she  had  finished  reading  her 
brother's  letter. 

Especially  was  the  postscript  like  the  slash  of  a  fang  in  a 
serpent's  tail.  She  was  no  longer  hot — she  was  cold;  she 
was  no  longer  nervous — she  was  like  frozen  steel ;  she  was 
no.t  tempestuous,  but  in  a  dead  calm  such  as  is  always  most 
portentous  when  such  temperaments  are  driven  to  des 
peration. 

Now  her  intellect  moved  with  the  precision  of  a  geomet 
rical  straight  line.  Such  a  letter  from  a  Culpepper,  Fairfax 
and  Charlotte  Culpepper's  son,  regarding  the  holiest  sacra 
ment,  save  one,  of  the  church ;  concerning  a  relation  that 
is  typical  of  the  union  there  is  between  Christ  and  His 


HAEOLD  CULPEPPER  ESCAPES  447 

Church ;  holding  up  to  ridicule  an  occasion  that  the  blessed 
Saviour  at  Cana  had  deemed  worthy  of  His  presence  and 
first  miracle — smiling  the  pulseless  water  into  beaded  and 
winsome  wine;  with  vulgar  phrase  satirizing  and  covering 
with  opprobrium  the  family  hearthstone  and  the  bridal 
couch;  irreverent  toward  God's  anointed  minister,  their 
sorrowful  father,  their  most  illustrious  kinsman,  the  Govern 
ment  he  professed  to  love  and  serve,  the  sanctities  and  sacred 
relations  of  life,  his  sister,  his  only  sister,  who  had  fought 
many  battles  for  him,  kept  secret  her  knowledge  of  his  many 
escapades  that  he  might  escape  sore  punishment — toward  her 
such  disrespect,  loutishness,  vulgar  and  cutting  innuendoes ! 

"How  low !" — there  was  no  warmth  or  tenderness  in  her 
voice — "how  groveling !  how  brutish !  Thus  beast  of  any 
breed  might  rave  and  revel  when  mated  with  the  opposite 
sex,  were  it  capable  of  speech. 

"How  I  loathe  everything  that  is  sensual,  unholy!  Yet 
— is  there  in  me  a  nature  that  might  be  deflected?  Is  that 
the  meaning  of ?" 

The  color  rose  in  her  face,  but  she  refused  to  translate 
the  thought,  to  her  a  new  one,  into  articulate  speech. 

"And  is  that  all  there  is  of  love?"  slowly,  pitifully,  she 
said.  "Are  love  and  lust  synonymous?  Is  our  mission  but 
to  mate — and  sate — and — propagate ?" 

Again  her  face  grew  darkly  red,  and  all  the  light  seemed 
to  go  out  of  her  eyes,  leaving  her  a  pathetic  incarnation  of 
despair — her  face  a  death  masque. 

*'If  love  means  no  more  than  that,  or  marriage — but  there 
was  my  mother!  So  sweet,  so  spiritual,  so  heavenly- 
minded  !" 

Presently  her  mind  returned  to  Harold's  letter.  She 
glanced  at  the  postscript.  The  iron  entered  her  soul,  as 
he  doubtless  had  intended  it  should. 


448  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Oh,  the  heartlessness  of  it !  Is  passion — cruel,  flagitious, 
murderous,  fiendish?  Harold  never  before  flung  coarse  in 
sult  and  taunt  in  my  face,  and  he  now  does  it  to — justify 
himself." 

Her  mind  was  working  slowly,  unerringly — "And  would  7 
justify  my — marriage  to — Simonson f" 

Another  long  pause.  "Simonson — Oh,  yes.  Harold  says : 
'Saw  old  Abe — drunk — Bastile — ol'  worman — darter — visit 
-—long  time — sociable — come  right  along — dog  and  fiddle — 
Edythe  ashamed — so  would  / ' " 

Again  Norah  entered  with  another  letter.  "This  letter, 
Miss  Culpepper,  is  for  Mr.  Simonson,  but  he's  out — what 
shall  I  do  with  it?  It's  pretty  bulky,  you  see,  and  heavy — 
maybe  it's  awfully  important.  If  you'll  take  it  and  hand  it 
to  him  when  you  see  him,  I'll  be  relieved  of  responsibility, 
and  can  do  another  errand  right  quick." 

Wishing  to  accommodate  the  maid,  Vergie  said :  "All 
right,  Norah;  I'll  hand  it  to  Mr.  Simonson,"  and  took  the 
letter.  She  held  it,  however,  but  a  moment,  and  then  re 
turned  it. 

"Give  this  letter  to  Mr.  Simonson  yourself,  Norah,"  very 
deliberately,  "and  say,  'Mr.  Simonson,  here's  a  letter  from 
your  other  sweetheart,'  and  be  as  innocent  as  a  tomtit.  Above 
all,  don't  permit  him  to  even  suspect  that  I  have  any  knowl 
edge  whatever  of  this  letter." 

"Oi  ondershtand,  shwate  one,"  replied  the  daughter  of 
the  Emerald  Isle,  dropping  into  her  native  brogue.  "Shure, 
an'  Oi've  a  felly  iv  me  own,"  and  passed  on. 

"And,  Norah,  dear,"  calling  the  maid  back,  "please  tell 
President  and  Mrs.  Davis  that  I've  gone  out  to  stay  all 
night  with  a  friend,  and  shall  not  return  till  to-morrow." 

"Shure,  me  darlint,  Oi'll  delivir  yiz  missige  to  th'  Priz'- 
din',  an'  to  ony  ithers  phwat  may  make  enquiries." 


HAROLD  CULPEPPEB  ESCAPES  449 

But  Vergie  was  gene  and  did  not  hear  the  closing  remark, 
or  observe  the  mischievous  smile  that  accompanied  it. 

The  letter  bore  the  New  Richmond  postmark,  and  the 
chirography  was  Marjorie  Gildersleeve's. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

VERGIE   LEAVES    RICHMOND SIMONSON    REMANDED    TO    LIBBY 

PRISON 

IF,  in  defiance  of  all  the  canons  of  the  story-teller's  art, 
we  rush  to  the  rescue  of  the  reputations  of  two  of  our 
characters,  it  is  because  sheer  justice  demands  it. 

Despite  a  certain  letter,  written  by  Mr.  Harold  Culpepper 
to  his  sister,  Mr.  Culpepper  was  not,  to  use  his  own  phrase, 
"a  bad  sort."  For  proof  we  need  only  cite  the  fact  that  he 
was  a  Kentuckian. 

It  is  true  he  was  an  excellent  judge  of  fine  horses,  a  con 
noisseur  of  mints  and  juleps,  was  never  averse  to  a  quiet 
game  of  poker,  and,  when  his  honor  or  veracity  was  ques 
tioned,  was  "nasty  with  his  dukes  and  barking  baby,"  to  use 
another  choice  expression  common  to  the  vernacular  of  the 
Egyptians ;  but — well,  he  was  a  Kentucky  gentleman,  "a 
bluegrass  thoroughbred,"  and  no  higher  credential  could  be 
desired,  not  even  at  the  Court  of  Saint  James,  sir ! 

And,  despite  certain  remarks  made  by  Mr.  Culpepper's 
sister — made,  let  us  remember,  when  that  estimable  young 
lady  was  laboring  under  great  excitement  and  a  most  griev 
ous  misapprehension,  Mr.  Culpepper  was  not  irreverent 
toward  church,  clergy,  religion,  marriage,  or,  least  of  all, 
his  revered  father,  or  his  adored  and  adorable  sister.  He 
was  simply  the  fortunate  victim,  as  was  his  sister,  of  an 
exuberant  vitality,  for  the  expression  of  which  he  could  find 
no  adequate  lexicographical  vehicle  and  yet  which  must 
have  vent;  hence  like  a  river  that  abandons,  with  cheerful 

450 


VEKGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  451 

and  magnificent  sang-froid,  all  conventional  banks  and  dykes 
whenever  there  chances  to  be  an  excessive  downrush  of 
water  from  the  mountains,  and  blithely  meanders  whither  it 
will,  so  Harold  in  extreme  emergencies  sometimes  laid  hold, 
it  must  be  confessed  somewhat  debonairly,  on  whatever  mis 
cellaneous,  unclassical,  or  even  unvoucher-for  figure  of 
speech,  or  unetymological  word  or  conglomeration  of  words 
that  might  be  in  easy  reach  at  the  moment  of  his  dire  neces 
sity — as  a  drowning  man,  for  example,  clutches  at  the  first 
straw,  not  stopping  a  moment,  borne  on  by  the  torrential 
current,  to  consider  its  genera,  species,  former  condition  of 
servitude,  or  any  other  extraneous  or  unrelated  matter, 
really  not  caring  a  rye-straw. 

And  it  is  only  fair  to  say,  in  behalf  of  Mrs.  Harold  Cul- 
pepper,  nee  Edythe  Fernleaf,  that  despite  a  marital  tragedy 
that  would  have  wrecked  most  women,  she  had  bravely  faced 
the  world,  kept  her  life  unsullied,  her  name  untarnished,  and, 
by  industry  and  enterprise,  so  prospered  as  to  render  it  un 
necessary — indeed  impossible — to  offer  charity  or  pity  to 
"thuh  durned  spunkey  little  chick,"  to  use  Nic  Tutwiler's  fa 
vorite  expression ;  that,  though  a  grass-widow,  she  was  only 
twenty,  petite,  had  a  rosebud  mouth,  a  wealth  of  fetching 
ringlets,  a  pair  of  saucy  blue  eyes  that  would  have  vanquished 
the  sternest  judge  or  most  obstinate  jury,  and  "moh  biz  an* 
git  up  thun  yuh  c'd  shek  uh  stick  ut,"  to  quote  again  from 
Mr.  Tutwiler ;  that  Mr.  Harold  Culpepper  did  all  the  court 
ing,  and  that  there  were  no  clandestine  meetings;  that  she 
was  a  Free  Methodist,  but  was  not  averse  to  the  Episcopali 
ans  of  the  Methodist  variety ;  that  she  had  really  and  truly 
loved  Harold  from  the  first  time  she  had  seen  him ;  that  she 
saved  the  Culpepper  family  from  extinction  by  presenting  to 
her  happy  husband  six  lusty  male  Culpeppers,  the  first  in  less 
than  a  year,  and  added  luster  to  the  name  by  giving  one  son 
to  the  church,  via  Evanston  and  Boston;  another  to  the 


AMERICANS  ALI> 

army,  via  West  Point,  and  a  third  to  the  Federal  judiciary, 
thus  reanchoring  the  Culpepper  family  to  the  Federal  Union, 
via  Harvard  and  Columbia;  and,  incidentally,  turned  her 
husband  from  the  cultivation  of  wild  oats  to  pursuits  more 
in  keeping  with  the  high  repute  of  the  distinguished  family, 
and  his  ever-increasing  importance  as  an  influential  citizen 
— for  which  her  husband  and  the  Culpeppers  were  supremely 
indebted  to  her  tireless  industry,  business  acumen,  and  never- 
failing  tact  and  diplomacy;  and,  finally,  won  Dr.  Culpep- 
per's  "dog  my  cats,  Edythe,  you're  the  finest  daughter-  in- 
love  in  the  world,"  to  which  Mrs.  Vergie — gave  instant 
acquiescence. 

When  Vergie  left  the  Executive  Mansion  she  had  no  defi 
nite  plan  or  objective  point.  She  only  knew  she  was  not  in 
a  fit  frame  of  mind  to  meet  Simonson  (she  hated  scenes), 
and  that  she  could  never  marry  him;  and,  had  she  been 
interrogated,  she  would  have  doubtless  declared  she  was 
determined  never  to  marry,  which  would  have  been  the  Cul 
pepper  truth,  which  knew  no  "variableness  or  shadow  or 
turning." 

It  was  almost  dark  and,  being  unattended,  she  decided  to 
go  to  the  Spotswood  House,  where  she  knew  she  would  find 
her  father,  more  than  likely  at  dinner,  as  he  usually  dined 
early.  The  cool  evening  air  was  bracing  and  she  needed 
the  exercise,  so,  as  the  distance  was  not  great,  she  decided 
to  walk;  besides,  she  could  always  think  better  when  walk 
ing  in  the  open  air. 

She  reflected  that  Harold's  letter — for,  of  course,  her 
father  must  be  apprised  of  at  least  its  substance — would 
easily  and  naturally  lead  up  to  what  she  wished  to  say  re 
garding  herself,  her  fiance,  and  the  course  she  now  intended 
to  pursue. 

She  expected  a  stormy  session  and  in  this  she  was  not 


VEBGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  453 

disappointed.  Dr.  Culpepper  was  in  every  respect  a  gentle 
man  of  the  highest  integrity,  and  one  that  almost  deified 
veracity.  She  knew  that  as  he  had  opposed  her  engagement 
to  the  young  lawyer,  and  had  writhed  under  his  recession 
from  his  decision,  under  pressure  from  the  President,  that 
she  could  not  be  absolved  from  her  solemn  vow  to  her 
mother,  and  the  confirming  oath  voluntarily  taken,  he  now 
would  protest,  with  even  greater  vehemence,  against  her 
recession  from  her  engagement;  feeling,  as  he  would,  that 
her  veracity,  her  very  honor,  was  doubly  at  stake. 

It  all  turned  out  precisely  as  she  had  anticipated.  Her 
refusal  to  join  her  father  at  dinner,  and  request  that  he 
secure  a  room  for  her  for  the  night,  were  to  him  sufficient 
evidence  that  something  extraordinary  had  occurred  or  was 
pending ;  but  when  she  told  him  what  Harold  had  done,  and 
what  she  herself  proposed  to  do,  tears  were  insufficient  to 
express  his  grief  and  shame;  and  even  profanity,  to  which 
he  was  only  occasionally  addicted,  but  which  he  had  some 
times  found  a  very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble,  entirely 
failed  him. 

In  the  end,  however,  Vergie  had  her  way,  as  is  usually 
the  case  with  daughters,  and  with  Vergie  in  particular — 
though  it  was  almost  midnight  before  the  doughty  Doctor 
capitulated,  and  even  then  not  without  a  groan  that  touched 
Vergie  to  tears. 

"And  now,  Papa,  dearest  old  Papa,"  giving  him  a  strong 
hug  and  a  series  of  very  saccharine  kisses,  the  compelling 
quality  of  which  she  had  often  tested,  "let's  be  oriental — 
'fold  our  tents  like  the  Arabs,  and  as  quietly  steal  away.' 
We've  only  two  hours  to  make  the  train  to  Nashville,  via 
Danville  and  Knoxville ;  and  from  there  to  New  Richmond, 
via  Louisville,  Cleopas,  and  Enochsburg,  will  be  easy.  Oh, 
yes,  Papa,  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  But  the  trains 
now  are  running  through  to  Nashville,  for  I  heard  the  Presi- 


464  AMERICANS  ALD 

dent  say  so  to-day.  No,  Papa,  passports  aren't  necessary. 
Your  dear  old  gray  head's  all  the  passport  you  need,  and  as 
for  myself — well,  I'll  look  to  my  wits.  Besides,  we're  ac 
quainted  with  everyone  at  this  end  of  the  line ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  way  their  ignorance  of  us  will  be  our  best  asset." 

Accordingly  a  servant  was  depatched  to  the  Executive 
Mansion  with  two  notes:  one  to  the  maid  in  charge  of 
Vergie's  room,  instructing  her  to  immediately  pack  Miss 
Culpepper's  trunks  and  forward  them  to  the  Richmond  and 
Danville  depot;  the  other  to  the  President,  informing  him 
that  Harold  had  returned  home,  had  taken  unto  himself  a 
wife,  and  that  it  was  imperative  that  they  should  go  to  him 
immediately,  closing  with  the  usual  thanks,  compliments, 
et  cetera — and  at  2  a.  m.  the  Doctor  and  Vergie  bade  fare 
well,  not  regretfully,  to  the  Confederate  capital. 

But  the  President  didn't  receive  Dr.  Culpepper's  note  for 
the  simple  reason  that  he  was  not  at  the  Executive  Mansion. 
It  was  receipted  for,  however,  by  the  President's  private 
secretary,  duly  read,  and,  as  it  contained  information  con 
cerning  an  escaped  Federal  prisoner,  was  immediately  turned 
over  to  War  Secretary  Seaton. 

Mr.  Davis  long  had  been  distressed  by  Gen.  J.  E.  John 
ston's  contumacy.  It  must  be  confessed  there  was  no  love 
lost  between  the  anxious  President  and  his  great  field  mar 
shal  ;  only  their  mutual  love  for  their  country  enabled  them 
to  work  together  at  all ;  and  never  had  there  been  a  moment 
when  they  hadn't  heartily  wished  themselves  rid  of  each 
other.  Still,  not  even  the  Rhetts  and  Yanceys  and  Vances 
and  Browns  and,  finally,  Pollard,  could  rally  a  sufficient  fol 
lowing  to  depose  the  President — the  ardent  desire  of  Gen. 
J.  E.  Johnston — and  the  President  couldn't  find  a  better  gen 
eral  to  take  Johnston's  place. 

But  now  the  trend  of  events  was  gravely  ominous.    Nash- 


VEBGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  455 

ville,  Rossville,  Murfreesboro,  Knoxville,  and  Chattanooga 
were  in  the  hands  of  the  Federal  Government ;  the  animosi 
ties  of  Northern  generals  had  subsided,  and  there  was  sub 
stantial  unity  of  feeling  and  counsel  among  all  the  com 
manding  officers,  Fremont,  Hunter,  and  McClellan  having 
been  eliminated  from  the  army;  Lincoln  was  steadily  gain 
ing  in  popular  favor  both  at  home  and  abroad;  the  Val- 
landigham  fiasco  had  been  turned  by  the  President,  with 
unusual  shrewdness,  to  the  discomfiture  of  Southern  sympa 
thizers  in  the  North ;  and  Northern  valor  and  patriotism  had 
made  the  ranks  of  Grant  and  Sherman  stronger  than  ever. 

Now  there  was  something  new  in  the  air.  A  bill  had 
been  introduced  in  the  Federal  Congress,  by  Elihu  B.  Wash- 
burne,  for  the  revival  of  the  rank  of  Lieutenant-General, 
which,  up  to  this  time,  had  been  given  to  but  two  men — 
Washington  and  Scott — and  to  the  latter  only  by  brevet. 
There  was  no  secret  as  to  the  man  who  was  to  be  invested 
with  this  high  rank  and  prerogative :  U.  S.  GRANT. 

President  Davis  did  not  like  U.  S.  Grant,  and  knew  that 
U.  S.  Grant  did  not  like  him ;  but  Davis  knew — had  known 
long  before  it  was  found  out  at  Washington — that  of  all 
the  Federal  commanders,  Grant  was  the  one  supremely  to 
be  feared  by  the  South. 

Davis  and  Grant  had  soldiered  together  in  Mexico.  Then 
it  had  been  Colonel  Davis  and  Lieutenant  Grant.  There, 
too,  Davis  had  met  Sherman,  McClellan,  Meade,  Kearney, 
Hardee,  Kilpatrick,  Logan ;  but  none  had  impressed  him  as 
had  the  silent,  taciturn,  dogged  Lieutenant  Grant. 

Davis  had  never  forgotten  an  evening  they  had  met  at  a 
pulqueria  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  after  attending  a  reception 
and  ball  at  the  palace  of  Fernando  y  Roxas,  and  two  or 
three  questions  Grant  had  asked  him.  Even  then  he  had 
thought  there  was  something  ominous  in  them,  and  in  the 
man. 


456  AMERICANS  ALL* 

Grant's  subsequent  career,  especially  since  the  outbreak 
of  the  war,  had  confirmed  the  President's  opinion  formed  in 
Mexico:  that  Grant  would  fight,  hard,  persistently,  relent 
lessly,  regardless  of  cost  or  suffering,  unto  victory,  or  extinc 
tion  of  one  or  the  other  army,  or  both  of  them. 

And  now  he  must  meet  this  merciless  man  again,  this 
time  as  a  combatant.  He  was  coming  with  a  group  of  field 
marshals,  an  ensemble  never  equaled,  and  now  in  perfect  har 
mony  ;  with  an  army  the  greatest,  in  point  of  numbers,  hard 
training,  experience,  and  equipment,  ever  organized  and 
put  in  the  field,  and  now  flushed  with  victory ;  backed  by  a 
triumphant  government,  one  of  the  richest  and  mightiest  in 
the  world ;  and  to  meet  all  this  array  of  wealth  and  numbers 
and  genius,  fired  by  an  unspeakable  hatred  of  both  himself 
and  his  government,  he  had: 

1.  A  Vice-President  whom  he  had  not  seen  or  heard  from 
in  eighteen  months,  but  whom  he  knew  to  be  constantly  con 
spiring  against  him ;  and  whom  any  other  ruler  would  have 
seized  and  hanged  or  beheaded. 

2.  A  group  of  governors  disloyal  to  the  core,  two  of 
whom  deserved  political,  if  not  physical,  decapitation. 

3.  A  Congress  that,  instead  of  helping  him  all  they  could 
and  manfully  standing  by  him,  was  gravely  debating  his  de- 
posal — whom  Cromwell  would  have  dispersed,  and  Mirabeau 
would  have  sent  to  the  Bastile  or  guillotine,  probably  the 
latter. 

4.  A  dozen  corps  commanders  and  division  commanders 
whose  fnsubordination  and  disobedience  at  Vicksburg,  Get 
tysburg,  Missionary  Ridge,  and  elsewhere  would  have  justi 
fied  their  court-martialing  and  execution. 

5.  Thousands  of  rich  planters  and  cotton-growers  that 
insolently  refused  to  fight,  send  substitutes,  pay  taxes,  or  in 
any  way  recognize  his  authority ;    and  who  were  infinitely 


VEEGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  457 

more  treasonous,  obstreperous,  and  insulting  to  Mr.  Davis 
than  Vallandigham  ever  was  toward  Mr.  Lincoln. 

6.  A  country  wasted  and  bleeding  from  the  ravages  of 
war,  and  a  people  indeed  rebellious — but  now  in  rebellion 
against  their  own  president  and  their  own  government. 

What  Lincoln  had  succeeded  in  doing,  Davis  must  do  or 
give  up  the  struggle :  harmonize  his  generals^  win  great  vic 
tories,  rally  the  people  about  himself  and  his  government. 

Preeminently  the  great  malcontent  and  mischief-maker 
was  Gen.  J.  E.  Johnston,  who  was  also  at  war  with  General 
Hood — after  Lee,  Longstreet,  and  A.  S.  Johnston,  the  Con 
federacy's  best  and  bravest  fighter. 

If  he  could  pacify  Gen.  J.  E.  Johnston,  the  effect  would  be 
salutary  on  General  Beauregard,  another  malcontent ;  and 
with  Generals  Hood  and  J.  E.  Johnston  working  together 
amicably,  maybe  the  other  generals  would  fall  in  line,  and 
thus,  by  degrees,  a  solid  and  harmonious  South  might  be 
brought  to  confront  and  do  battle  royal  with  a  solid  and  har 
monious  North. 

With  this  thought  in  mind,  and  prayer  in  his  heart,  the 
harassed  President  had  left  Richmond  on  the  afternoon  that 
Vergie  had  received  the  letter  from  her  brother,  and  another 
letter,  addressed  in  the  well-known  chirography  of  Marjorie 
Gildersleeve,  to  the  young  lawyer — had  left  quietly  to  allay 
suspicion,  escape  a  garrulous  and  meddlesome  press,  keep 
the  Washington  government  in  the  dark  regarding  his  move 
ments,  insure  his  personal  safety,  and  to  safeguard  his  office 
from  threatened  usurpation. 

Thus  his  mission  was  to  see  Hood  and  Johnston,  seek 
Johnston's  reconciliation  to  himself,  Johnston's  and  Hood's 
reconciliation  to  each  other,  and  pray  for  the  abandonment 
of  Johnston's  Fabian  policy,  and  an  immediate  campaign  of 
hard  fighting  against  the  Federal  armies  of  the  Cumberland 
and  the  Tennessee. 


458  AMERICANS  ALD 

For  this  reason  Mr.  Davis  did  not  receive  Dr.  Culpepper's 
note  regarding  the  whereabouts  of  Major  Harold  Culpepper, 
paroled  to  President  Davis  over  the  protest  of  War  Secre 
tary  Seaton,  and  now  escaped  to  New  Richmond,  Illinois 
— but  the  irate  War  Secretary  did  receive  it. 

While  all  these  currents  and  counter-currents  were  rush 
ing  on,  with  ever-increasing  velocity  and  fury,  a  certain 
Captain  Simonson,  likewise  paroled  to  the  President,  and 
likewise  over  the  protest  of  the  same  Mr.  Seaton,  War  Sec 
retary,  was  leisurely  riding  one  of  the  President's  horses  far 
out  into  the  country,  enjoying  the  invigorating  air,  and  rap 
turously  dreaming  of  his  fiancee.  Late  in  the  evening  he 
had  returned  to  the  Executive  Mansion.  Inquiring  for  Miss 
Culpepper,  the  maid  had  informed  him  that  she  had  gone 
out  to  remain  over  night  with  a  friend.  "No ;  Miss  Cul 
pepper  left  no  note  or  verbal  message,"  the  maid  had  replied. 

Very  naturally,  Simonson  was  nonplused,  and  just  a  little 
piqued.  This  had  never  happened  before — what  could  it 
mean?  Evidently  nothing.  Some  sudden  emergency  had 
arisen — perhaps  one  of  her  many  friends  had  suddenly  been 
taken  ill,  or  had  died,  or  been  killed,  and  she  had  gone  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment  to  render  assistance  and  consolation. 
"It  would  be  just  like  her,  the  blessed  little  darling,"  he  had 
mentally  added. 

He  would  try  to  find  her ;  it  would  be  hard  to  live  without 
her  so  long.  But  on  reflection  he  concluded  that  to  hunt  for 
her  in  Richmond  would  be  like  hunting  for  the  traditional 
needle  in  a  haystack. 

Then  the  thought  came  that  he  would  go  to  the  Spotswood 
House  and  spend  the  evening  with  Dr.  Culpepper,  between 
whom  and  himself  a  decided  liking  had  sprung  up.  More 
than  likely  he  would  have  done  this  had  not  the  maid  that 
moment  intercepted  him. 


VERGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  459 

"Mishtur-r  Simonson,"  ever  so  sweetly,  "here's  a  littir-r 
fr'm  yiz  ither  shwateheart,"  handing  the  letter  which,  onl> 
a  few  hours  earlier,  had  given  Vergie  such  mortal  offense. 

Simonson  laughingly  took  the  letter  and  was  about  to 
make  a  fitting  answer  to  the  maid's  pert   speech,   when, 
glancing  at  the  face  of  the  envelope,  he  observed  that  his  , 
name  and  address  had  been  written  by  the  hand  of  Marjorie 
Gildersleeve — and  that  it  was  a  long  letter. 

Abruptly  leaving  the  maid,  in  a  manner  which  gave  great 
offense  to  her  ladyship,  he  went  at  once  to  his  room  and 
flung  the  letter  down  on  the  table.  He  was  sorry  Marjorie 
had  written;  he  was  trying  to  forget  her.  He  wanted  to 
be  left  free  to  devote  himself  wholly  and  solely  to  Vergie. 
Once  he  had  treated  Vergie  shabbily ;  put  her  to  open  shame 
before  the  world,  he  told  himself,  and  he  wanted  to  make 
amends  by  lavishing  upon  her  a  lifetime's  devotion.  And 
Vergie  deserved  it — she  was  so  good,  so  true,  so  loyal,  so 
utterly  immovable  in  her  fidelity  to  him.  "Not  heaven  or 
earth  or  hell,"  he  affirmed,  could  ever  move  her  to  give  him 
up,  or  waver  in  her  allegiance  to  him.  "Through  poverty 
or  wealth,  through  sickness  or  health,  come  good  or  evil 
report,  we'll  cling  to  each  other." 

"Nevertheless,  Marjorie — ah,  yes,  Marjorie " 

He  concluded  he'd  open  the  letter,  anyway.  Common 
courtesy  required  as  much ;  besides,  it  would  be  sweet  to 
read  what  she  had  written. 

He  tore  the  envelope  half  open.  "Maybe  I'd  better  not 
read  it,  after  all,"  he  said  to  himself.  "But  no ;  Marjorie's 
not  the  sort  to  ask  embarrassing  questions,  or  to  put  herself 
in  one's  way.  Of  course  I'll  read  it,  and " 

He  drew  the  letter  from  the  envelope — it  was  not  from 
Marjorie. 

The  entire  enclosure  was  from  the  Judge,  and  related 


AMEEICANS  ALL 

wholly  to  business.    Marjorie  had  only  addressed  the  envel 
ope  for  her  father. 

The  whole  complexion  of  things  now  was  changed.  At 
first  he  had  been  sorry  that  Marjorie  had  written  to  him, 
and  now  he  was  disappointed  because  she  had  not  written 
to  him.  Simonson  certainly  was  very  hard  to  please. 

He  finally  concluded,  after  looking  over  the  various  docu 
ments,  that  he  was  a  very  much  abused  person.  Vergie  had 
unceremoniously  left  him,  to  be  gone  several  hours — in  fact, 
all  night — and  Marjorie,  though  addressing  the  envelope, 
had  not  deigned  to  write  him  even  the  briefest  message.  It 
had  not  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  never  written  to  Mar 
jorie,  and  that  when  he  had  taken  his  final  leave  of  her  he 
had  done  so  in  a  very  formal  manner. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Simonson  was  in  a  decided  funk. 
Had  he  been  wiser  in  the  ways  of  women,  he  would  have 
regarded  the  mere  addressing  of  the  envelope  by  the  fair 
Marjorie,  though  she  had  enclosed  no  message,  as  an  act 
extremely  significant,  more  so  by  far  than  a  merely  formal 
letter  of  friendship — it  was  a  mute  sign  that  he  was  not  for 
gotten  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  tender  appeal  for  his  remem 
brance  of  her. 

Little  could  Marjorie  have  foreseen  how  fateful  the  mere 
tracing  with  the  pen  of  Simonson's  name  across  the  large 
buff  envelope,  such  as  lawyers  use  for  the  transmission  of 
deeds,  mortgages,  and  other  bulky  documents,  was  destined 
to  be  for  several  persons,  herself  and  "Samuel  Simonson, 
Esq.,"  included. 

Simonson  retired  early,  consoling  himself  with  thoughts 
of  the  delicious  amends  that  would  be  made  on  the  morrow, 
when  Vergie  had  returned,  beheld  his  woeful  countenance, 
been  brought  to  realize  how  cruel  she  had  been,  and  then 
had — the  rest  may  be  safely  left  to  the  reader's  imagination. 

It  could  not  have  been  later  than  2  a.  m. — in  fact,  it  was 


VEEGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  461 

just  that  hour,  for  Simonson  remembered  hearing  the  whistle 
of  the  departing  train  on  which  the  Culpeppers  were  passen 
gers — when  he  was  unceremoniously,  but  not  rudely,  awa 
kened  and  told  to  arise  and  put  on  his  clothes. 

At  first  he  thought  himself  the  victim  of  a  prank,  rude 
jest,  roistering  joke ;  but  a  second  look  at  the  stern  faces  of 
his  nocturnal  callers  convinced  him  that  the  invitation  was 
a  command,  and  that  it  was  not  to  be  debated,  but  obeyed. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  under  arrest 
— in  short,  am  a  prisoner?" 

"That  is  our  meaning,  sir." 

"And  by  whose  authority  am  I  submitted  to  this  indignity  ? 
Not  the  President's,  surely." 

"By  the  authority  of  John  L.  Seaton,  Secretary  of  War." 

"Then  I  appeal  to  my  host,  President  Davis.  Will  you 
not  permit  me  to  communicate  with  him  ?  Why,  gentlemen, 
this  is  a  gross  breach  of  all  the  gentle  and  gracious  laws  of 
hospitality — to  thus  come  and  bear  away  a  guest ;  and  that, 
too,  from  the  President's  own  residence." 

Simonson  was  rather  disposed  to  felicitate  himself  on  the 
fetchingness  of  his  speech,  and  more  than  half  expected  the 
men  to  abjectly  implore  his  pardon  and  obsequiously  with 
draw.  Nothing  of  the  kind  happened,  however;  but  the 
spokesman,  lacking  nothing  in  courtesy,  proceeded  to  en 
lighten  the  "guest." 

"We  recognize  your  embarrassment,  sir,  and  are  not  un 
willing  to  explain  the  facts  in  the  case,  as  we  understand 
them ;  though,  in  the  meantime,  you  can  be  dressing. 

"In  the  first  place,  the  President  is  not  in  Richmond,  nor 
will  he  be  in  Richmond  for  several  days ;  hence  it  would  be 
impossible  for  you  to  appeal  to  him. 

"Furthermore,  only  technically  are  you  a  guest — a  sort  of 
guest  by  courtesy;  as  a  matter  of  fact — for  your  sake  we 
regret  to  say  it — you  are  a  prisoner  of  war. 


462  AMERICANS  ALL 

"Again :  this  is  indeed  the  President's  residence,  but 
legally,  at  the  request  of  the  President,  and  by  virtue  of  a 
special  arrangement  with  War  Secretary  Seaton,  made  at 
the  time  yourself  and  Major  Culpepper  were  brought  here, 
this  is  also  an  official  prison,  and  on  the  records  of  the 
Department  is  known  as  'Brockenborough  Prison.' 

"I  regret  to  say,  still  further,  all  this  was  done  over  Sea- 
ton's  vehement  protest — a  protest  Seaton  has  made  a  matter 
of  record. 

"Again :  Secretary  Seaton  made  the  concession  for  Major 
Culpepper  only  because  he  was  the  President's  kinsman,  and 
your  name  nowhere  appears  in  the  record.  Thus,  so  far  as 
our  record  shows,  you  are  now  in  Libby,  and  have  been 
there  constantly  since  you  were  turned  over  to  us  after  the 
battle  of  Missionary  Ridge ;  and,  as  you  have  not  been  ex 
changed,  unmistakably  you  should  now  be  in  Libby  Prison." 

The  young  lawyer  listened  to  the  recital  of  undeniable 
facts  with  increasing  wonder.  Finally  he  said : 

"But  why,  why  this  extraordinary  haste  at  this  hour,  in 
the  President's  absence?" 

"Because  the  President  is  absent,  and  because  you've  no 
claim  on  the  President,  and  because  your  comrade  has  dis 
honored  the  undeserved  privileges  he  has  enjoyed  and  has 
gone  to " 

"Major  Culpepper — have  you  heard  from  him?  Do  you 
know " 

"As  though  you  hadn't  known  all  the  time." 

"Before  God,  I  declare  to  you,  as  a  gentleman,  I've  had 
no  knowledge  of  his  whereabouts.  You've  word — where 
is  he?" 

"In  New  Richmond,  happily  married!  Come,  Captain,  are 
you  ready?" 

"Yes,  gentlemen — only — would  you  mind  if  I  left  a  mes- 


VEEGIE  LEAVES  RICHMOND  463 

sage  for  Miss  Culpepper  and  her  father,  that  they  may  know 
where  to  find  me?" 

"No  use,  Captain ;  they  wouldn't  get  it." 

"Why— why  not?" 

"They're  no  longer  here.  They've  returned  to  New  Rich 
mond,  Illinois." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

MARJORIE.      VIRGINIA    LEE.       ELAINE 

O  IMONSON  should  not  have  been  surprised  at  his  arrest, 
O  for  he  must  have  known  that  his  absence  from  prison 
was  wholly  without  law  or  precedent. 

Furthermore  he  must  have  known,  or  should  have  known, 
that  his  unrestricted  liberty,  at  the  Executive  Mansion  and 
on  the  streets  of  Richmond,  was  a  constant  source  of  irri 
tation  to  those  who  loved  the  South,  against  which  he  had 
fought,  and  who  hated  the  North,  of  whose  army  and  gov 
ernment  he  was  both  representative  and  defender. 

Ordinary  perspicacity  also  should  have  enabled  him  to 
see  that  his  happy,  debonair  countenance  and  manner  of 
life,  however  innocent,  were  multiplying  the  President's 
enemies  and  intensifying  the  bitterness  of  his  powerful  foes. 

He  should  have,  and  ordinarily  would  have,  regarded 
Major  Culpepper's  unceremonious  departure  as  a  signal  for 
instant  and  decisive  action  on  his  part — either  to  voluntarily 
return  to  Libby  Prison  or,  on  the  theory  that  "all's  fair  in 
love  and  war,"  to  make  a  dash  for  liberty  as  Harold  had 
done;  for,  strictly  speaking,  he  was  not  the  President's 
guest  but  Harold's.  The  President,  who  knew  nothing  of 
his  antecedents,  social  status,  or  merits  or  demerits,  had 
invited  him  to  Brockenborough  Mansion  wholly  on  his 
nephew's  account.  The  President's  sole  interest  in  Simon- 
son  had  been  that  of  courtesy — to  Harold's  friend,  Vergie's 
fiance,  and  the  Doctor's  prospective  son-in-law. 

All  these  considerations  should  have  been  emphasized  to 

464 


MARJOEIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  465 

Simonson's  mind  by  the  storm  of  fury  aroused  in  Richmond 
by  the  escape  from  Libby  Prison,  during  the  night  of  Feb 
ruary  9-10,  of  109  Northern  prisoners,  of  whom  fifty-nine 
reached  the  Federal  lines  in  safety,  forty-eight  were  recap 
tured,  and  two  were  drowned — an  escape  peculiarly  exas 
perating  to  the  Confederate  Government,  and  Libby  Prison 
authorities  in  particular,  because  of  Richmond's  wild  ova 
tion,  that  very  hour  in  progress,  to  Gen.  John  Morgan,  who 
had  just  made  his  sensational  escape  from  the  Federal 
prison  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  and  their  proud  boast,  as  voiced 
by  Gen.  John  H.  Winder,  that  "no  Billy  Yank  can  ever  get 
out  of  our  hands." 

Yet,  through  all  this  storm  of  personal  hatred  of  his 
generous  host,  and  venomed  fury  against  his  government 
and  compatriots,  Simonson  had  come  and  gone  with  all  the 
gay  and  happy  freedom  of  a  well-known  and  honored  mem 
ber  of  the  President's  household. 

But  while  the  situation  was  wholly  anomalous  and,  strictly 
speaking,  both  foolish  and  without  warrant  of  law,  it  was 
by  no  means  inexplicable ;  nor,  from  the  Southerner's  stand 
point,  was  it  other  than  praiseworthy  save  when  some  great 
interest  was  at  stake,  as  in  the  present  instance;  and,  in 
deed,  from  the  Northerner's  viewpoint,  while  the  situation 
was  hugely  quixotic,  and  richly  spiced  with  humor — for  the 
Roundhead  never  can  understand  the  Cavalier— it  was  in 
no  sense  censurable. 

"Love  is  blind,"  "All  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  "The 
sacred  obligation  of  a  host,"  "Noblesse  oblige" — are  the 
accurate  and  all-sufficient  explanation  of  the  altogether  em 
barrassing  "Brockenborough  Mansion  episode,"  as  it  came 
to  be  called. 

Seaton's  invasion  of  the  President's  residence  at  that 
hour  to  arrest  Captain  Simonson  was  wholly  unnecessary, 
and  was  prompted  solely  by  a  desire  to  show  his  authority, 


466  AMERICANS  ALL 

and  to  humiliate  the  President.  He  could  have  seized  the 
Federal  Captain  far  from  the  Executive  Mansion,  and  at 
almost  any  hour  of  the  day;  but  the  President  had  over 
ruled  him  and  he  hated  him. 

Moreover,  more  than  likely  the  War-Secretary  knew  his 
tenure  of  office  would  be  brief  and  whatever  resentment  he 
could  show,  and  vengeance  wreak,  must  be  done  quickly. 
And  how  could  he  more  humiliate  the  President,  or  effec 
tually  appeal  for  the  favor  of  his  powerful  and  malignant 
enemies,  than  by  invading  his  private  residence — legally 
Brockenborough  Prison — and  in  the  dead  of  night  dragging 
out  as  it  were,  and  indeed  was  so  reported,  "by  the  hair  of 
the  head  a  notorious  damned  Yankee  soldier  and  nigger- 
worshiper  whom  for  months  the  President  has  been  shield 
ing  and  actually  pampering  like  a  prince !" 

Thus  Simonson  reentered  Libby  not  only  with  the  odium 
of  being  a  Yankee  but  also  a  victim  of  the  venom  of  the 
President's  enemies;  and,  that  there  might  be  lacking  no 
element  of  bitterness,  now  spurned  and  treated  with  silent 
obloquy  by  his  fiancee. 

Also — Gen.  John  H.  Winder.  To  those  familiar  with 
the  inner  workings  of  the  Confederate  prisons  during  the 
last  and  most  terrible  year  of  the  War  no  comment  is 
necessary. 

General  Winder  was  Warden-General  of  all  the  Southern 
military  prisons — Libby,  Belle  Isle,  Andersonville,  Pember- 
ton,  Macon,  Charleston,  Charlotte,  Wilmington — and,  while 
not  cruel,  was  disposed  to  magnify  his  office.  He  was  not 
a  fierce  malcontent  like  Stephens,  Hunter,  Rives,  Atkins, 
or  certain  governors  like  Vance  and  Brown,  or  such  gen 
erals  as  Beauregard  and  J.  E.  Johnston,  or  distinguished 
civilians  of  the  Rhett,  Pryor,  Yancey  stamp;  still  he  was 
decidedly  of  the  opinion  that  the  President  was  entirely  too 
lenient  toward  Northern  prisoners.  It  was  but  natural, 


MAEJOBIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  467 

therefore,  that  he  should  conclude  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
add  to  the  rigors  and  severities  of  prison  life — rigors  and 
severities  that  shocked  the  whole  world,  all  of  which  were 
concealed  from  the  kindly  President,  or  artfully  pooh- 
poohed  and  explained  away. 

But  General  Winder  took  a  special  pride  in,  and  felt  a 
personal  responsibility  for,  Libby  Prison  because  it  was  at 
Richmond,  his  personal  and  official  residence. 

Hence  when  he  had  learned  that  109  prisoners  had  es 
caped  from  Libby  Prison,  he  had  hastened  from  Macon, 
Georgia,  "breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter."  Major 
Turney,  the  Commandant,  was  given  a  very  unhappy  ses 
sion,  all  sentinels  on  duty  that  night  were  thrown  into 
Castle  Thunder,  and  the  remaining  1,091  Federal  prisoners 
were  made  to  quake  with  terror. 

Of  course,  the  President  was  to  blame — everybody  said 
so.  "If* the  President  were  not  so  squeamish  and  chicken- 
hearted,"  was  a  common  remark,  "all  our  troubles  would 
soon  be  over."  And  Toombs,  chancing  to  be  in  Richmond 
at  the  time,  made  the  significant  remark :  "If  I  were  Presi 
dent  I'd  give  the  damned  Yankees  yonder  in  Libby  a  taste 
of  hell-fire  and  brimstone ;"  and  everyone  knew  that  "good 
old  Bobby  Toombs"  was  a  man  of  strictest  veracity. 

And  Simonson  had  to  bear  the  added  venom  and  malig 
nancy  that  were  inspired  by  the  sneering  declaration  that 
he  was  "the  President's  darling  pet  and  protege." 

But  for  the  pity  and  compassion  of  Major  Turney,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  surmise  how  far  they  would  have 
carried  their,  persecution  of  the  hapless  young  man ;  pos 
sibly  he  would  have  been  made  away  with  entirely.  His  life 
was  made  a  constant  torture ;  and,  not  unfrequently,  bullets 
whizzed  in  decidedly  uncomfortable  close  proximity  to  his 
head.  All  these,  by  that  rare  good  Providence  that  seems  to 
watch  over  all  lovers,  he  happily  escaped.  Others,  however, 


468  AMERICANS  ALL 

were  not  so  fortunate.  Lieutenant  Hammond's  ear  was 
nicely  perforated,  and  the  captain  of  an  Ohio  regiment  was 
killed  by  a  bullet  fired  from  Carey  Street. 

All  this  was  bad  enough;  but  one  day  when  he  was 
roughly  seized  in  the  Upper  Chickamauga  Room,  hustled  to 
the  Lower  Chickamauga  Room,  and  more  roughly  still 
hurled  down  to  the  basement  dining  room,  then  dragged 
back  through  the  carpenter  shop  and  finally  locked  in  one 
of  the  cells  usually  reserved  for  runaway  negroes  and  Fed 
eral  prisoners  under  sentence  of  death,  his  fears  and  misery 
reached  the  nether-depth — for  to  his  mind  his  removal  to 
a  "death  cage"  could  mean  nothing  less  than  that  he  was 
soon  to  be  put  to  death. 

Happily,  however,  he  was  mistaken.  What  had  seemed 
a  cruelty  was,  in  reality,  a  mercy ;  and  his  apparent  summons 
to  death  was  but  a  gracious  act  of  clemency  to  secure  his 
safety — and  back  of  it  all  stood  the  merciful  President,  his 
former  host,  with  the  knightly  and  chivalrous  Commandant 
as  the  President's  altogether-willing  aide. 

When  the  President,  on  his  return  from  his  conference 
with  Generals  Hood  and  Johnston,  was  apprised  of  all  that 
had  occurred  at  the  Executive  Mansion  during  his  absence, 
he  was  naturally  in  a  towering  rage.  Every  instinct  in  him 
of  loyal  chivalry  and  knightly  hospitality  had  been  outraged 
by  his  War-Secretary's  infamous  act,  and  but  for  the  ex 
postulations  of  Mrs.  Davis  and  Mr.  Benjamin  he  would 
have  immediately  dismissed  Seaton  and  ordered  Simon- 
son's  return,  in  pomp  and  state,  to  the  Executive  Mansion : 
such  were  his  imperious  temper  and  generous  nature. 
Being  brought  to  see  the  unwisdom  of  such  a  contretemps 
he  did  the  next  best  thing:  sent  for  the  Commandant  and 
instructed  him  to  shield  Captain  Simonson,  and  to  make 
his  imprisonment  as  merciful  as  possible. 

The  Commandant,  to  the  President's  delight,  yielded  a 


MARJORIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  469 

glad  and  instant  acquiescence.  This,  however,  was  to  be 
expected.  Between  the  President  and  Major  Turney  there 
had  long  existed  a  bond  not  unlike  that  which  has  immor 
talized  Jonathan  and  David,  and  Damon  and  Pythias.  They 
had  soldiered  together  in  two  previous  wars:  the  Black 
Hawk  and  the  Mexican.  Major  Turney  had  been  Mr. 
Davis'  confidant  when  he,  Davis,  was  a  suitor  for  the 
hand  of  General  Taylor's  beautiful  daughter — that  General 
Taylor  who  subsequently  became  the  hero  of  the  Mexican 
War,  and  twelfth  president  of  the  United  States ;  and  when 
a  calamity  that  beggared  speech  had  befallen  Comrade 
Turney,  Comrade  Davis  had  hastened  to  comfort  him,  and 
render  him  every  service  possible.  For  more  than  a  third 
of  a  century  they  had  been  as  brothers,  and  when  the  way 
had  opened  for  Major  Turney  to  become  Commandant  of 
Libby  Prison  they  were  mutually  delighted. 

But,  apart  from  the  President's  request,  Major  Turney 
liked  the  unfortunate  prisoner.  He  had  often  recalled  the 
day  of  his  arrival  at  Libby  Prison  the  previous  November; 
his  then  haggard  face,  emaciated  body,  and  raging  fever; 
the  quiet  for  him  he  had  for  weeks  enforced  in  the  Lower 
Gettysburg  Room,  just  over  the  Hospital;  Harold  Culpep- 
per's  recognition  of  him  as  a  fellow-townsman,  and  his  ad 
mittance  to  the  prison  of  Miss  Culpepper  the  day  the  sen 
tinel  had  refused  to  admit  her;  the  removal  of  the  two 
young  men  to  Brockenbo rough  Mansion ;  his  recovery  and 
appearance  on  the  streets,  usually  in  company  with  Miss 
Culpepper;  the  rumors  of  his  approaching  marriage  to  the 
famous  beauty — and  then  for  both  himself  and  the  prisoner 
the  deluge:  the  escape  of  109  Federal  prisoners;  the  anger 
of  General  Winder;  the  arrest  and  imprisonment  of  the 
sentinels ;  his  own  rebuke  and  threatened  deposal ;  the  fury 
of  Seaton  against  both  himself  and  the  President;  the  dra 
matic  re-arrest  and  re-incarceration  of  the  prisoner;  the 


470  AMERICANS  ALL 

order  to  proceed  to  yet  greater  severities  in  the  treatment 
of  Federal  prisoners;  and  finally  an  intimation  from  the 
War-Secretary  that  "since  Captain  Simonson  must  be,  and 
doubtless  is,  qualified  to  furnish  maps,  drawings,  and  speci 
fications  of  all  the  forts  and  defenses  in  and  about  Rich 
mond,  with  much  other  information  that  would  be  invalu 
able  to1  the  Government  at  Washington,  and  thus  possessed 
would  be  disastrous  to  the  Confederate  Government;  and 
.that,  furthermore,  since  prisoners  might  escape,  indeed  were 
escaping,  */  Captain  Simonson  should  be  so  unfortunate  as 
to  meet  with  death,  accidentally,  of  course,  which  would  be 
most  shocking,  indeed  deplorable,  then,  etc.,  etc.,  et  cetera." 

It  was  at  this  last  intimation  that  Major  Turney,  with  a 
great  show  of  vindictiveness,  had  Simonson  removed  to  the 
remotest,  and  most  rarely-visited,  part  of  the  prison,  and 
placed  in  solitary  confinement. 

By  this  arrangement  Simonson  was  not  only  shielded 
from  harsh  treatment  and  constant  peril  but  was  established 
where  he  could  receive  the  personal  attention  of  the  Com 
mandant. 

Major  Turney,  the  Commandant,  was  kind-hearted,  of 
more  than  ordinary  culture  and  refinement,  of  one  of  the 
oldest  and  most  aristocratic  and  influential  Southern  fami 
lies,  and  naturally  felt  a  loathing  for  the  cruel  treatment 
that  Secretary  Seaton  had  decreed  for  all  Federal  prisoners, 
especially  those  at  Libby  Prison ;  and,  consequently,  spent 
most  of  the  time  in  his  office  which  was  immediately  below 
"Milroy's  Room,"  near  the  cages,  and  opened  on  South-side 
Canal  Street. 

Thus  it  often  happened  that  when  the  Commandant  was 
supposed  to  be  in  his  office,  or  in  the  city  conferring  with 
other  officials,  he  was  at  the  "Simonson  Cage,"  supplying 
the  Federal  Captain  with  food  from  his  own  table,  or  en 
gaged  in  conversation  with  him. 


MAEJOEIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  471 

In  this  way  Simonson  was  made  measurably  comfortable ; 
usually  was  served,  secretly  of  course,  from  the  Command 
ant's  own  table ;  and,  but  for  the  Commandant's  inability  to 
provide  the  "cage"  with  light,  bedding,  and  furniture,  his 
position,  aside  from  being  a  "solitary,"  might  have  been 
vastly  worse. 

As  the  friendship  between  the  Commandant  and  Simon- 
son  ripened  into  intimacy  the  Commandant's  family  began 
to  hear  glowing  accounts  of  a  wonderful  "caged  prisoner ;" 
so  many  indeed  that  the  Commandant's  wife,  Mrs.  Heloise 
Turney,  and  his  daughter,  Miss  Elaine  Veronica,  became 
warmly  interested. 

Curiosity  is  a  wonderful  whetstone,  especially  when  ap«- 
plied  to  a  young  girl's  vivacious  imagination ;  and,  in  the 
course  of  time,  Miss  Elaine  insisted  on  being  permitted  to 
have  a  glimpse  of  "the  terrible  wild  man  Papa  has  caged." 

To  this  the  Commandant  objected,  for  no  particular  rea 
son  ;  and  the  mother  for  all  the  reasons  that  any  mother, 
under  like  circumstances,  would  urge;  and  with  the  result 
that  the  reader  has  already  surmised:  the  said  Elaine  had 
her  own  way;  and,  having  seen  him  once,  she  persisted  in 
seeing  him  many  times,  indeed  very  many  times. 

Elaine's  oft-repeated  visits  were  rendered  all  the  safer 
by  the  removal  in  midsummer  of  the  Prison  carpenter  shop 
from  the  center  room  of  the  basement — one  end  of  which 
served  as  a  dining  room — to  the  west  basement  room  where 
the  carpenters  would  have  more  light  and  ventilation  from 
a  double  exposure,  south  and  west — the  young  lawyer's 
cage  being  in  the  remote  rear  of  the  now-vacated  center 
room  of  the  basement,  a  region  of  Plutonian  darkness. 

It  had  been  proposed  at  first  to  move  the  carpenter  shop 
to  the  east  basement  room,  known  as  "Rat  Hell  Cellar;" 
but  the  idea  was  abandoned  because  the  plumbing  there 
was  bad,  the  faucets  leaked  and  kept  the  floor  damp,  and 


472  AiLEBICANS  ALL 

sometimes  the  room  was  flooded  by  the  back-waters  of 
James  River.  It  was  from  "Rat  Hell  Cellar"  Colonel  Rose 
and  his  108  comrades  made  their  escape. 

Thus  with  the  carpenters  removed  to  the  west  cellar,  the 
east  cellar  abandoned  to  rats  and  miscellaneous  filth,  and 
the  vast  cavernous  center  cellar,  at  the  rear  of  which  was 
Simonson's  cage,  occupied  only  at  meal-time,  it  became  safe 
to  permit  Simonson  to  receive  his  callers  outside  his  cell. 

In  case  anyone  should  be  seen  approaching,  it  would 
require  but  a  moment  for  the  prisoner  to  lock  himself  in  his 
cell,  and  his  callers  to  appear  in  the  role  of  baiters  and 
tormentors. 

And  here  for  many  months  Simonson  "held  court,"  and 
gave  "drawing-rooms,"  but  only  two  persons  ever  "ap 
peared" — the  commandant  and  his  daughter,  Elaine  Ve 
ronica. 

By  this  arrangement  of  the  commandant,  sanctioned  by 
the  President,  Simonson  was  enabled  to  keep  informed  re 
garding  the  progress  of  the  war,  and  other  great  world 
movements:  the  Russell-Gladstone  backdown  from  recog 
nizing  the  Government  of  the  Confederate  States  of  Amer 
ica  ;  Napoleon's  maneuvering  to  establish  a  monarchy  in 
Mexico;  Bismarck's  tireless  intriguing  with  Italy,  Austria, 
and  France,  ever  scheming  for  the  downfall  of  France,  ever 
striving  for  commercial  and  territorial  advantage,  ever  pro 
moting  the  Unification  Idea  among  the  Germanic  peoples; 
the  great  Victor  Emanuel's  steady  progress,  battling  against 
a  political  Papacy,  and  for  the  establishing  of  a  non-Papal, 
non-ecclesiastical,  all-inclusive,  United  Kingdom  of  Italy ; 
and  Russia's  open  advocacy  of  the  Lincoln  government, 
despite  Victoria's,  Napoleon's,  Bismarck's,  and  Gladstone's 
unconcealed  and  vaunted  hostility  toward  the  North;  Hal- 
leek's  downfall,  and  the  call  of  Grant  to  the  supreme  com 
mand  of  the  Federal  army ;  the  immediate  "spat"  between 


MAEJOEIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  473 

Grant  and  Stanton,  and  the  quiet,  but  thoroughly  effective, 
"spanking"  administered  by  Grant  to  the  able  and  invalu 
able,  but  ever-blustering,  Bismarckian  War  Secretary;  the 
buoyant  expectations  at  Washington  when  Grant,  with  his 
army  of  122,146  soldiers,  marched  out  against  Lee,  with  his 
army  of  61,953  soldiers;  of  the  bloody  struggle  in  the  Wil 
derness  and  at  Spottsylvania,  with  37,335  Federal  soldiers 
killed,  and  nearly  as  many  Confederates — all  in  the  merry 
month  of  May,  '64 ;  the  awful  carnage  at  Cold  Harbor,  and 
Butler's  fearful  fiasco  at  Bermuda  Hundred;  Gen.  Jubal 
Early's  descent  on  Washington,  and  Sheridan's  descent  upon 
the  valiant,  but  outgeneraled,  Jubal  in  the  Shenandoah  Val 
ley  ;  of  J.  E.  Johnston  and  J.  B.  Hood  still  being  at  "outs," 
Davis'  inability  to  reconcile  them  to  each  other  or  himself, 
Johnston's  final  deposal,  Hood's  promotion  to  the  supreme 
command  of  the  Western  army,  and  his  awful  defeat  before 
Atlanta  by  Sherman ;  Farragut's  victory  at  Mobile,  thus 
closing  the  last  mouth  of  the  famishing  Confederacy;  "Sher 
idan's  Ride,"  and  his  three  great  victories:  Winchester, 
Fisher's  Hill,  and  Cedar  Creek — so  rapidly  was  history  being 
made,  and  destiny  determined. 

Here,  too,  while  Commandant's  and  Captain's  hearts  were 
knitting  together,  and,  between  whiles,  a  third  heart  was 
being  strangely  thrilled,  the  story  of  the  political  situation 
was  from  time  to  time  related :  the  extreme  lateness  of  the 
Democratic  National  Convention  at  Chicago — August  29, 
'64;  the  violent  speeches  there  made  against  the  Lincoln 
administration,  particularly  by  Belmont  and  Seymour — one 
rampant  and  rough-shod,  the  other  specious,  virulent,  but 
polished  to  the  utmost;  the  "war- failure,"  "peace-at-any- 
price"  platform  adopted,  and  the  brilliant  victories  of  Farra- 
gut,  Sherman,  and  Sheridan  following  so  quickly  as  to  put 
the  platform  and  its  sponsors  to  boundless  ridicule ;  McClel- 
lan's  and  Pendleton's  nomination  to  head  the  national  ticket 


474  AMERICANS  ALL 

— one  by  162  votes  out  of  a  total  of  216,  the  other  by 
votes  out  of  a  total  of  216,  but  both  subsequently  made 
unanimous ;  Lincoln's  and  Johnson's  nomination  by  the  Re 
publicans,  and  the  fierce  and  bitter  opposition  to  Mr.  Lin 
coln  of  Stevens,  Greeley,  Chase,  Henry  Winter  Davis,  and 
other  prominent  and  powerful  Republicans ;  the  thrilling 
progress  of  the  wonderfully  dramatic  campaign;  Lincoln's 
reehction,  receiving  2,330,552  votes,  with  212  electors,  to 
McClellan's  1,835,985  votes,  and  21  electors;  Chief  Justice 
'fancy's  death,  October  12,  '64 — information  of  the  greatest 
interest  to  Simonson — and  President  Lincoln's  magnanimous 
bestowal  of  that  great  office  on  Salmon  P.  Chase. 

But  all  the  while  Cupid  was  busy — but  now  it  was  a 
strange  Cupid,  or  else  with  that  increased  wisdom  said  to 
accrue  by  age  and  experience,  and  menaced  in  reputation  by 
his  constant  ill-success  in  managing  Simonson's  heart  affairs, 
Cupid  now  had  adopted  an  entirely  new  line  of  strategy.  Or 
possibly  Simonson  himself  had  changed — who  knows  ?  And 
if  so,  what  wonder,  considering  the  tremendous  vicissitudes 
through  which  he  had  passed  since  his  arrival  at  New  Rich 
mond  a  certain  February  day,  coming  by  stage  from  Enochs- 
burg — and  that  first  evening  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's — ah, 
yes,  and — Marjorie. 

And  now — Elaine  Veronica 

There  were  no  melodramatics  on  the  part  of  Simonson 
over  Vergie's  extraordinary  recession  from  her  engagement, 
and  unceremonious  departure  from  the  Confederate  capital 
— no  wringing  of  hands,  or  moans,  or  lamentations.  Not 
that  he  was  fickle,  for  he  was  the  farthest  removed  from 
being  an  emotional  weather-vane;  not  that  he  hadn't  loved 
her,  for  he  had ;  not  that  finally  he  would  have  done  by  her 
as  she  had  done  by  him,  for  he  would  have  been  loyal  to 
her  to  the  very  last — but  the  lure  that  had  led  him  on  had 
been  her  intoxicating  vitality,  the  magnet  physical :  the  glory 


MABJOBIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  475 

of  physical  beauty  and  passion,  magnetized  by  thrilling  heart- 
volts  electrical,  yet  always  sweetly  chaste,  pure,  honorable, 
even  when  most  exquisitely  all-surrendering  and  seductive. 

"There  are  also  celestial  bodies,  and  bodies  terrestrial; 
but  the  glory  of  the  celestial  is  one,  and  the  glory  of  the 
terrestrial  is  another.  .  .  for  one  star  differeth  from 
another  star  in  glory." 

Instead  of  depression  over  Vergie's  departure,  Simonson 
felt  elation,  as  the  wine-bibber  and  the  opium-eater  rejoice 
when  the  nerve-tingling,  rapturing,  but  unhealthful,  drugs 
are  removed  from  sight,  and  their  spell  is  broken.  Now 
the  air  seemed  cooler,  sweeter,  more  refreshing  and  invigor 
ating  ;  his  vision  clearer,  more  accurate ;  his  apprehension 
and  judgment  keener,  saner;  he  found  himself  emerging  as 
from  a  wonderful  delirium  into  the  normal.  He  was  himself 
once  more. 

To  Simonson  there  was  also  another  cause  of  gratulation 
— once  more  he  was  on  good  terms  with  his  conscience. 

He  had  felt  that  he  had  sinned  against  Vergie.  Hence 
her  glowing  eyes,  brooding  face,  and  Fate-like  voice,  de 
nouncing  him  that  night  at  Judge  Gildersleeve's,  had  roused 
him  to  an  unspeakable  anguish  of  self-reproach,  so  great  that 
he  had  plunged  into  the  purgatorial  fires  of  war  that  he 
might  find  cleansing,  Nepenthe's  kiss,  and  strength  to  return 
to  her  as  her  true  and  devoted  knight. 

And  he  had  been  faithful  unto  death;  he  had  stood  at 
Death's  door,  and  would  have  entered  had  not  Vergie  led 
him  back  to  life. 

Now  she  had  openly  repudiated,  disdainfully  rejected,  the 
bond  he  had  faithfully,  and  at  such  cost  of  peril  and  suffer 
ing,  executed. 

By  her  own  act  she  had  ruthlessly  separated  herself  from 
him,  would  none  of  him.  He  was  free.  Conscience  said — 
Joy! 


476  AMEE1CANS  ALL 

"Mar  jorie — no !" 

She  belonged  to  Harold.  No  one  had  told  him.  He  had 
no  recollection  of  Edythe  Fernleaf.  Had  he  remembered 
her  he  would  never  have  thought  of  associating  her  with  a 
Culpepper.  Had  he  been  told  that  Harold  Culpepper,  that 
any  Culpepper,  would  wed  a  tradesman  or  trades-woman 
he  would  have  denounced  the  declaration,  and  declared  it 
libelous. 

Harold — Vergie — Marjorie — yes;  they  were  of  the  same 
type,  class,  order — only — Marjorie  was  higher.  " — There 
are  also  celestial  bodies — one  star  differeth " 

Marjorie  was  the  same — plus.  She  had  a  form  as  queenly 
as  Vergie's;  a  beauty  even  more  radiant  because  it  was  of 
alabaster  and  pink  and  turquoise-blue  and  gold;  a  love  at 
once  as  virtuous  and  passionate,  but  with  an  exaltation,  sort 
of  heavenliness,  always  added  thereto;  a  manner  and  bear 
ing  equally  lofty,  commanding,  royal,  yet  in  every  move 
ment  and  gesture  uplift,  dignity,  gentleness,  benevolence. 
All  these  things  she  had  and  was — but  she  was  also :  health, 
and  bread,  and  drink,  and  wisdom,  and  healing,  and  con 
solation,  and  inspiration. 

Yes ;  she  was  of  the  Culpepper  class,  but — higher.  Mar 
jorie — Vergie.  Both  glorious — but 

"There  are  also  celestial  bodies,  and  bodies  terrestrial; 
but  the  glory  of  the  celestial  is  one,  and  the  glory  of  the  ter 
restrial  is  another — for  one  star  differeth  from  another  star 
in  glory." 

Marjorie — the  celestial;  Vergie — the  terrestrial — Elaine 
Veronica 

But  the  young  lawyer  was  a  prisoner,  outcast  and  re 
jected,  son  of  old  Abe  Simonson,  the  drunken  ex-convict 
reprobate.  In  Vergie's  conduct  toward  him  at  the  last  it 
all  came  back  to  him.  She  had  seared  it  into  his  very  soul 
with  a  stylet  of  relentless  steel. 


1MARJORIE,  VIRGINIA  AND  ELAINE  477 

"Who  am  I,  to  daydream,  to  build  air-castles,  to  think 
of  such  as — Marjorie?  I  know,"  he  said,  fiercely,  as  if 
waking  angrily  in  the  lap  of  some  deluring  Delilah,  "I 
know  I'm  nothing,  worse  than  nothing — only 

/ 

'a  weed, 

Flung  from  the  rock,  on  Ocean's  foam  to  sail, 
Wher'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  prevail.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A   MYSTERIOUS   LOVE.      SIMONSON's   FLIGHT   FROM    RICHMOND 

DURING  the  almost  eleven  "solitary"  months,  February 
to  January,  Simonson  never  saw  the  Commandant's 
wife;  and  though  he  often  heard  about  her  the  references 
were  always  incidental,  elidical,  elliptical,  the  verbal  photo 
graphs  always  being  the  merest  silhouettes. 

That  she  was  tall  and  stately,  grave  and  dignified  and, 
like  the  fairy  elf  Elaine,*beautiful,  he  had  not  a  single  doubt. 

He  also  surmised  that  she  was  tenderly  and  broodingly 
sorrowful ;  that  somehow,  somewhere,  somewhen,  there  had 
been  a  great  tragedy  in  her  life,  a  shadow  that  lifted  never 
more. 

This,  however,  was  a  mere  conjecture  based  on  such  in 
tangible  evidence  as  the  lowering  of  the  husband's  and  the 
daughter's  voices  whenever  they  spoke  of  her ;  a  wistful  look 
in  Elaine's  eyes  and  a  pathetic  drooping  of  her  usually 
merry  lips ;  and  always  on  the  part  of  both  a  winsome  vocal 
caressingness  in  speaking  of  "Our  Heloise." 

But  though  husband  and  daughter  never  permitted  a 
day  to  pass  without  seeing  him,  she  never  came,  never  sent 
any  message. 

Incidentally  Simonson  had  learned  that  Heloise  Turney 
was  a  Dinwiddie,  one  of  the  historic  Dinwiddies  who  in  the 
Middle  Ages  had  allied  themselves  with  William  the  Con 
queror  and,  with  him,  had  gone  to  France ;  that  her  grand 
father,  the  great  Baron  Esterhazy  Dinwiddie,  had  been  one 
of  Napoleon's  Field-Marshals  at  Waterloo;  and  that  her 

478 


A  MYSTERIOUS  LOVE  479 

father  when  a  young  man  had  fled  for  his  life  to  Charleston, 
South  Carolina,  where  he  had  married  Gabrielle  Elaine 
Monteagle,  only  daughter  of  Pierre  Monteagle,  Governor 
of  the  Commonwealth  and  son  of  that  Honore  Monteagle 
who  had  come  over  with  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette  and 
fought  with  Washington  for  American  Independence;  thai 
she,  Heloise,  had  been  educated  in  Paris  at  the  Ecole  Notr* 
Dame  des  Champs ;  that  at  twenty,  a  year  after  graduating, 
she  had  married  Thomas  P.  Turney,  of  the  distinguished 
Hillary  Potter  Turney  family,  who  at  the  time  of  their 
marriage  was  a  banker-politician  and  member  of  her  father's 
gubernatorial  staff;  that  she  was  the  mother  of  three  chil 
dren,  only  one  of  whom,  Elaine,  had  survived ;  and,  finally, 
that  she  was  a  devout  Catholic — all  learned,  however,  from 
passing  remarks,  incidental  or  parenthetical. 

What  wonder  the  name  "Heloise"  came  to  be  very  musical 
to  Simonson,  and  that  its  cultured  and  devout  bearer  was 
at  last  idealized  to  sainthood? 

Only  once  was  he  invited  to  the  Commandant's  home.  In 
citizen  dress,  full  bearded,  razors  not  being  permitted  in 
Libby  Prison,  and  accompanied  by  Major  Turney,  no  one 
would  have  recognized  him  as  the  Samuel  Simonson  of 
other  days ;  and  he  often  reflected  that  it  was  strange,  con 
sidering  the  high  regard  in  which  he  was  evidently  held  by 
Elaine  and  her  father,  he  had  never  been  invited  to  their 
home. 

Indeed  they  had  often  jokingly  referred  to  their  rudeness 
in  monopolizing  so  much  of  his  time,  and  selfishness  in 
requiring  him  to  bear  all  the  burdens  and  perform  all  the 
offices  of  hospitality ;  and  once  Elaine,  when  alone  with  him, 
had  struck  a  deeper  note  that  had  startled  him  and  set  his 
pulses  to  beating  to  swifter  and  happier  rhythms  than  he 
had  thought  possible  again. 

It  was  an  afternoon  in  October.    There  was  the  wildest 


480  AMERICANS  ALL 

excitement  in  Richmond,  occasioned  by  Sheridan's  debo 
nairly  galloping  with  his  troopers  entirely  around  the  Con 
federate  Capitol;  and  Benjamin,  the  Hebrew  Secretary  of 
State,  subsequently  declared  that  only  Sheridan's  Irish  chiv 
alry  prevented  him  from  promenading  into  tlje  city  and 
paying  his  respects  to  President  Davis  at  the  Executive 
Mansion. 

But  now  the  intelligence  had  been  received  that  General 
Kilpatrick  was  mercilessly  slaughtering  the  Confederate 
officers  and  sentinels  at  Belle  Isle,  and  setting  the  Federal 
prisoners  free — the  unsuccessful  expedition  in  which  the 
brave  Ulric  Dahlgren  lost  his  life — and  that  soon  they  would 
be  storming  the  walls  of  Libby  Prison. 

In  the  deep  gloom  of  the  prison  Simonson  could  not  see 
Elaine's  face  distinctly ;  but  he  knew,  by  her  agitated  breath 
ing  and  trembling  voice,  that  she  was  greatly  frightened 
and  excited.  He  strove  as  best  he  could  to  quiet  her  fears 
and  allay  her  excitement;  but  this  was  not  easily  done  on 
account  of  the  unusual  shuffling  of  feet  overhead,  and  the 
clattering  of  flying  hoofs  on  the  pavement  without;  and 
presently,  when  a  deafening  volley  was  fired  for  the  pur 
pose  of  intimidating  the  prisoners  and  keeping  them  away 
from  the  windows  she  trembled  violently  and  sought  his 
hand. 

"Have  no  fear,  Elaine,"  he  entreated. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  for  myself." 

"For  whom  then  should  you  be  afraid?"  having  no 
thought  of  himself.  "Your  home  is  guarded,  and  your 
father  has  all  the  troops  of  the  Capitol  at  his  command." 
Unconsciously  all  the  while  he  was  pressing  her  hand  in  a 
manner  that  bid  fair  to  break  or  dislocate  several  delicate 
bones — though  strangely  enough  Elaine,  at  the  time,  was 
not  conscious  of  any  pain. 

"But,"  pressing  closer,  "what  if  they  should  be  successful 


A  MYSTEEIOUS  LOVE  481 

and,  in  the  confusion  and  excitement,  an  angry  guard  should 
kill  you,  or  your  comrades  should  take  you  away  so  that  I 
— I  should  never,  never  see  you  again,  and — and " 

"O— Elaine!" 

"O  my  Captain !" 

The  next  moment  she  was  sobbing  on  his  breast,  and  he 
was  saying  and  doing  all  those  things  that  men,  so  blissfully 
circumstanced,  have  said  and  done  since  the  first  lithe  and 
winsome  form  yielded  to  strong  encircling  arms,  and  the 
first  lips,  coquettishly  denied  a  single  instant,  uplifted  freely 
all  their  honied  sweets. 

Now  all  fear  was  gone.  Possibly  they  hoped  Kilpatrick 
wouldn't  come;  or  if  he  did  come  there  wouldn't  be  any 
casualties — but  even  for  these  tender  and  pious  hopes  on 
their  part  we  cannot  vouch.  But  we  are  safe  in  asserting 
that,  consciously  or  sub-consciously,  they  fervently  prayed 
that  if  Kilpatrick  must  come  he  would  be  greatly  delayed, 
and  that  when  he  arrived  he  might  encounter  (without  cas 
ualties,  however)  such  tremendous  obstacles  as  would  leave 
them  undisturbed  a  long  time. 

How  blissfully  delicious  were  the  days  and  weeks  that 
followed — October,  November,  and  December! 

Love  had  come  without  invitation,  indeed  without  ob 
servation,  at  least  on  Simonson's  part.  After  the  tempest 
through  which  he  had  passed — sickness  and  disappointment, 
tragedy  and  war — his  eyes  and  ears  were  sealed,  his  tongue 
mute,  and  his  heart  dead  to  all  earthly  transports,  or  so  he 
thought.  He  had  been  swept  almost  beyond  control,  indeed, 
till  reason  had  reeled  and  life  itself  had  hung  in  a  balance, 
by  two  women  of  beauty  and  character,  by  two  lures  of 
love.  But  now  he  was  done  with  love,  and  he  was  done 
with  women ;  for  to  him  all  womankind  was  comprehended 
in  the  two  types :  Marjorie  and  Vergie.  He  was  not  think 
ing  of  love,  least  of  all  looking  for  it,  or  desiring  it.  He 


482  AMERICANS  ALL 

had  not  become  a  misogynist,  nor  was  he  at  all  bitter,  or  mo 
rose,  or  misanthropic — he  had  simply  failed  in  the  great 
quest.  After  Marjorie  and  Vergie  there  never  could  be  any 
third  girl  or  woman.  He  didn't  exactly  say  so — he  took  it 
for  granted ;  and  both  he  deemed  irrevocably  lost  to  him.  He 
was  not  definitely  unhappy — it  was  rather  a  state  of  dazed 
or  suspended  sensation :  no  feeling  at  all,  or  desire,  or  ex 
pectation.  Life's  phrase  or  paragraph  for  him  had  closed 
with  a  double  period — the  passional  life:  Vergie's  rejection 
of  him,  and  Marjorie's  marriage  to  Harold  Culpepper ;  and 
he  was  too  honorable,  even  had  he  been  a-mind,  to  go  phi 
landering  after  another  man's  wife. 

Also — he  was  a  hated  prisoner.  No  woman  would  think 
of  such  as  he,  least  of  all  of  the  lovely  women  of  the  lordly 
South. 

And  Elaine — ?  In  Marjorie  Gildersleeve  and  Virginia 
Culpepper,  queenliness  in  height  and  form,  and  the  ideals  of 
blonde  and  brunette,  found  their  highest  expression ;  but 
Elaine  was  definitely  neither  the  one  or  the  other.  After 
the  stately  Marjorie  and  Vergie,  Elaine  seemed  to  be  (if 
he  thought  of  instituting  comparisons)  little  more  than  a 
child.  Though  her  face  was  exceedingly  fair  to  look  upon, 
and  her  hair  was  chestnut-brown,  her  eyes,  large  and  lumi 
nous,  were  neither  turquoise  or  ebon,  but  more  like  the  topaz 
or  beryl — yet  singularly  expressive  of  all  that  she  thought 
and  felt.  Petite,  "perfectly  formed  as  a  Grecian  vase  of 
alabaster,"  she  scarce  more  than  came  to  his  shoulders.  The 
impression  of  childlikeness  was  doubly  deepened  by  her  un 
usual  frankness,  and  fervency  and  openness  of  mind,  such 
as  is  commonly  associated  with  childhood — an  innocent  di 
rectness  and  confidingness  not  uncommon  among  Southern 
girls,  but  almost  wholly  unknown  to  their  Northern  sisters. 

Simonson's  first  feeling  toward  her  was  rather  paternal 
until  marking  it  one  day,  Elaine  gaily  said,  "You  forget, 


A  MYSTERIOUS  LOVE  483 

sir,  that  there  are  fewer  than  three  years  between  us.  You 
see  that,  despite  my  wee-ness,  I'm  but  three  years  your 
junior." 

"Ah,  is  that  so,  my  Rose?"  laughingly. 

"No ;  rather  your  Eglantine,  if  you  must  floralize,"  gaily. 
"I'm  not  large  enough  to  be  likened  to  the  American  Beauty 
Rose,  xou  gallant  flatterer." 

"Thanks  for  the  correction,  my  fair  and  fragrant  Eglan 
tine  ;  but  you  forget  that  the  eglantine  is  a  rose  and  not  a 
honeysuckle  and,"  with  a  sudden  thrill  that  betrayed  itself 
in  his  voice,  "of  all  roses  my  Eglantine  is  the  dearest  and 
sweetest." 

Thus  had  it  begun — but  unlike  any  emotion  he  had  ever 
experienced  was  the  love  that  now  tipped  every  passing 
moment  with  a  resplendent  apocalypse.  Naught  lacking,  all 
.possessing;  yet  there  had  been  no  maddening  passion — his 
soul  was  calm  as  a  tideless  sea.  Elaine  came  and  went — 
there  was  all-satisfying  rapture  but  no  anxiety,  no  anguish, 
no  harrowing  apprehension.  Her  voice  throbbed  and  ca- 
denced  with  contagious  joy,  but  into  it  came  no  diminished 
third,  consecutive  fifth,  haunting  minor,  or  fleeting  disso 
nance  or  enharmonic;  an  ecstasy,  peaceful,  restful,  soothing 
as  love-lilt  of  velvet-voiced  thrush  at  dusk  to  its  mate — 
withal  exhilarating,  and  triumphant  as  song  of  skylark  ris 
ing  from  its  dewy  bed  ambrosial  to  greet  the  nascent  morn 
with  symphonies  of  grateful  song.  His  arm  about  her,  and 
her  head  a-pillow  on  his  bosom,  but  no  awakening  of  the 
mad  desire  that  cost  Cleopatra  her  diadem,  and  Marc 
Antony  the  Roman  Empire. 

When  he  had  thought  he  had  wronged  Harold  by  pluck 
ing  the  pomegranates  of  God's  Elysian  that  were  his,  and  his 
alone,  from  Marjorie's  lips,  he  had  besought  the  mercy  of 
heaven  for  his  sacrilege  and  found  no  peace  for  many  days. 
When  he  had  awakened  from  his  passionate  pilgrimage  with 


4S4  AMERICANS  ALL 

Vergie,  and  the  glory  of  the  terrestrial  had  paled  before  the 
greater  glory  of  the  celestial,  he  had  been  so  stricken  with 
remorse  he  had  revowed  fidelity  to  the  terrestrial,  and  sought 
expiation  for  his  infidelity  in  the  purgatorial  fires  of  War. 
But  now  all  the  delights  of  satisfaction  were  his,  every 
flower  of  love,  every  musk-laden  breeze,  with  no  remorse, 
or  feverish  and  unsatisfied  desire. 

Their  love  for  each  other  was  so  elemental,  fundamental, 
essential  to  their  very  being,  he  told  Elaine  one  day  that 
he  had  always  loved  her;  that  he  had  loved  her  before  he 
had  ever  met  her ;  that  his  love  for  her  sprang  from  a  divine 
necessity  because  she  was  a  part  of  himself,  for  the  moment 
forgetting  who  he  was;  and  to  his  boundless  delight,  not 
unmixed  with  pleasurable  astonishment  that  it  should  be  so, 
she  had  instantly  declared  the  same  feeling  and  conviction 
regarding  the  source  and  nature  of  her  love  for  him — and 
it  was  all  so  easy,  restful,  natural. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  last  day  of  the  year  that 
the  invitation  was  given  to  speed  the  old  year,  and  to  wel 
come  the  new,  at  the  Commandant's  residence.  Tender  as 
had  become  the  bond  between  the  warden  and  his  prisoner, 
and  surpassingly  sweet  the  relation  existing  between  the 
prisoner  and  Elaine,  now  perhaps  his  greatest  pleasure  came 
from  the  thought  of  at  least  beholding  the  wonderful 
Heloise,  Elaine's  mother,  and  his — mystery. 

But  he  was  disappointed.  Escorted  by  the  Commandant, 
and  in  citizen-dress  provided  by  him,  his  mind  was  busy 
with  thoughts  of  Heloise  Turney:  how  she  would  appear, 
what  she  would  say,  what  would  be  her  bearing  toward  him 
— but  a  colored  servant  in  livery,  gray-haired  and  deferen 
tial,  opened  the  door,  and  in  the  parlor  only  Elaine  was 
waiting  to  receive  them. 

His  eyes  sought  the  absent  mistress,  a  look  which  did  not 
escape  the  Commandant's  attention;  and  Elaine,  who  also 


A  MYSTERIOUS  LOVE  485 

had  observed  it,  at  once  said,  "Mama's  not  at  home.  She 
went  to  Charleston  this  morning  to  pay  Grandpapa  and 
Grandmama  a  long-deferred  visit." 

Of  course,  he  did  not  show  his  disappointment,  and  the 
evening,  for  one  reason  at  least,  became  memorable. 

It  was  now  ai  nost  ten  o'clock.  They  were  but  com 
fortably  seated,  however,  when  Major  Turney  was  sum 
moned  to  a  secret  conclave.  Smiling  on  Elaine,  a  smile 
which  also  included  Simonson  in  his  benevolent  regard  and 
kindly  affection,  he  said,  "Daughter,  I  shall  parole  my  pris 
oner  to  you." 

"He'll  be  perfectly  safe  in  my  hands,  Papa,"  was  her  gay 
rejoinder. 

But  Major  Turney  had  not  been  gone  more  than  ten  min 
utes  when  Lieutenant  Abner  Turney,  the  Major's  cousin, 
and  noted  for  his  fanatical  hatred  of  all  Northerners,  strode 
into  the  room — unannounced. 

Elaine  and  Simonson  were  startled,  for  the  peril  was 
great.  If  Lieutenant  Abner  were  to  recognize  the  Com 
mandant's  guest  he  would  instantly  arrest  him,  regardless  of 
consequences;  for  he  was  a  very  determined  man. 

Elaine,  however,  rose  to  the  occasion  and  promptly  pre 
sented  "Mr.  James  Overton,  of  Savannah."  Adding,  "As 
Uncle  Abner  has  never  visited  Savannah,  Mr.  Overton,  per 
haps  he  would  enjoy  hearing  some  descriptions  of  the  quaint 
old  city,"  thus  giving  him  opportunity  to  romance  about  a 
place  concerning  which  she  was  confident  he  knew  nothing, 
yet  without  peril  of  being  found  out. 

But  the  fire-eating  Abner  was  in  a  hurry  and,  only  re 
marking  on  the  striking  resemblance  between  "Mr.  Over- 
ton  and  a  certain  damned  Yankee  named  Simonson,  whom 
our  truckling  President  for  months  has  been  pampering  like 
a  prince,"  turned  and  strode  out  of  the  house. 

Thanking  their  stars  for  their  deliverance,    Elaine    in- 


486  AMERICANS  ALL 

structed  the  servitor  at  the  door  to  admit  no  one  except  her 
father — not  even  the  President. 

Now  feeling  themselves  safe,  they  surrendered  themselves 
to  those  little  ardors  so  dear  to  lovers,  pleasures  in  the  pres 
ent  instance  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  this  was  their  first 
tete-a-tete  outside  a  prison  wall.  The  fire  glowed  on  the 
broad  and  ample  hearth,  the  great  clock  on  the  stair  meas 
ured  off  the  hours  and  minutes  and  seconds,  and  a  cricket 
somewhere  complained  of  the  bitter  cold.  Elaine  brought  a 
little  wine;  a  few  rare  old  books,  and  a  new  one  untrans 
lated,  by  Victor  Hugo,  were  examined  and  discussed;  and 
Elaine  sang,  to  her  own  accompaniment,  a  beautiful  chanson 
— her  mother's  favorite,  as  she  explained. 

All-radiant  she  arose  from  the  piano.  Simonson  enfolded 
her  in  his  arms  and  thought  how  sweet  it  would  be  if  they 
were  now  one  forever ;  if  this  were  their  home ;  if  there  were 
no  more  cruel  wars  nor  partings.  And  those  things  of  which 
he  was  thinking  she,  slyly  stealing  her  hand  into  his,  imme 
diately  articulated  into  speech. 

Then  they  made  a  tour  of  the  room,  looking  at  the  paint 
ings  and  family  portraits,  many  of  the  latter  in  uniform,  and 
covered  with  medals  and  decorations.  There  were  the  great 
Dinwiddies,  father  and  son,  the  Turneys,  of  high  repute ;  and 
Dinwiddie  and  Turney  women  famed  for  their  beauty,  chas 
tity,  and  many  accomplishments.  Last  of  all  Elaine  exhib 
ited  the  picture  of  "Our  Heloise." 

"And  is  that  your  mother's  picture?" 

"Yes ;  don't  you  think  she's  beautiful  ?" 

"O  Elaine,"  tears  welling  up  in  his  eyes,  "she's  an  angel 
— the  most  beautiful,  the  divinest  woman  I  ever  saw." 

Elaine  then  related  how  her  mother  sat  for  Pietro  Ben- 
venuto,  in  Paris,  just  before  her  great  affliction,  adding, 
"You  know,  Mama  has  never  been  quite  the  same  since 
then." 


A  MYSTERIOUS  LOVE  487 

Simonson  did  not  know,  but  delicacy  forbade  inquiry. 
Other  thoughts,  too,  were  crowding  in  upon  him.  Here  he 
was  at  the  very  heart  of  the  Old  Dominion  consecrated  by 
highborn,  immortal  heroes;  he  was  of  St.  Joseph,  Missouri. 
Holding  in  his  arms  the  fairest  offspring  of  that  glorious 
Homeric  regime — he,  the  son  of  Abe  Simonson!  His  soul 
was  full  to  overflowing. 

"O  Elaine,  my  sweetest  Eglantine,  Love  of  my  Soul,  I  do 
not  deserve  you.  I'm  too  basely  born.  I'd  be  a  disgrace  to 
you,  to  the  illustrious  ones  whose  blood  flows  in  your  veins, 
a  dishonor  to  your  House." 

"Dearest,"  she  replied,  "I  know  not  what  you  mean,  nor 
to  what  you  refer ;  nor  do  I  care  to  know.  But  I  do  know 
what  my  Papa  and  the  President  say.  They  say  that,  though 
you're  a  Northerner,  and  at  war  with  our  beloved  Confed 
eracy,  you're  nevertheless  a  gentleman;  and  that  in  char 
acter,  ability,  and  noble  principles  you  are  one  of  us.  Do 
you  understand?  One  of  Us!  And  /  know  that  they 'know 
— that  you  are  one  of  us. 

"Believe  me,  Dearest,  and  you  must  not  laugh  at  me," 
demurely;  "I  do  not  feel  toward  you  as  I've  felt  toward 
other  young  men.  Somehow  you  are  sacred  to  me." 

"But  come,"  now  laughing,  "we  must  not  yield  to  melan 
choly.  It's  been  so  long  since  you've  seen  a  real  home  I 
must  show  you  ours." 

She  took  a  silver  candlestick  containing  a  wax  taper  and 
piloted  him  from  room  to  room,  commenting  or  explaining 
at  each  room :  parlor,  second-parlor,  family  sitting  room,  on 
and  on,  upstairs  and  downstairs,  after  the  manner  of  the 
oldtime  East  End  mansions,  but  few  of  which  at  the  present 
time  remain. 

Now  they  were  upstairs.  "And  this  is  Papa's  office,  this 
is  our  sewing  room,  this  Papa's  sleeping  room,  this  Mama's, 


488  AMERICANS  ALL 

this  mine,  and  this  will  be  yours  when  this  cruel  war  is 
over  and  you  shall  come  to  visit  us,  and  this " 

She  had  paused  at  a  door  opening  into  a  room  much 
larger  than  the  rest,  and  by  far  more  elegantly  furnished — 
rich  rugs  and  carpets  and  tapestries,  sumptuous  chairs  and 
divans  and  lounges  with  inviting  cushions,  dressing  case 
with  all  the  appurtenances,  magnificent  bed  with  baldachin 
and  canopy,  and  counterpane  white  as  virgin  snow. 

With  a  tumult  of  emotion,  all  the  sweets  of  domesticity 
being  suggested  by  the  vision  of  a  room  fit  to  be  the  bridal 
chamber  of  a  queen,  even  of  one  of  Shakespeare's  or  of 
Tennyson's  fairest  and  most  bewitching,  he  exclaimed,  "And 
this—?" 

"Dear  Love,"  she  whispered,  by  her  manner  beseeching  a 
kiss  and  a  loverly  embrace,  "when  you  come,  when  you  come 
for  sure,  every  room  shall  be — OURS!" 

He  held  her  in  his  arms,  how  long  he  knew  not;  kissed 
her,  how  often  neither  of  them  could  tell,  for  Love  is  a 
poor  mathematician,  has  no  hourglass  or  horoscope,  and  dis 
dains  all  chronologies. 

Presently,  however,  they  were  aroused  by  the  clatter  of 
hoofs  on  the  pavement.  Laughing  lightly,  she  said,  "You 
stay  here,  and  I'll  go  to  the  window  and  reconnoitre." 

But  in  a  moment  she  was  back  again.  "Sammy,  for  your 
own  sake  and  for  Papa's,  you  must  flee  for  your  life.  It's 
General  Winder,  and  Uncle  Abner's  with  him.  Uncle 
doesn't  like  Papa,  thinks  he's  too  easy  on  the  prisoners ;  and 
he's  recognized  you  and  reported  to  General  Winder.  Here ! 
Here's  a  suit  of  Papa's,  and  an  overcoat — Confederate. 
They'll  fit  you,  and  help  you  to  escape.  I'll  go  to  the  door 
and  keep  them  out  as  long  as  possible.  Don't  wait  to  change 
here — they'll  have  the  house  surrounded  in  a  minute. 
There's  the  backstairs — the  yard — the  garden — King 
George  Street— you  know  the  rest.  Good-bye!  God  bless 


A  MYSTERIOUS  LOVE  489 

you!  God  keep  you!"  Already  she  was  descending  the 
stairs. 

"Yes!  Yes,  General  Winder,  Uncle  Abner,  I'm  coming. 
I'd  just  gone  to  my  room  to  retire  for  the  night. 

"Yes ;  Papa  hasn't  returned  yet.  Must  be  at  the  Executive 
Mansion,  though  I'm  not  sure.  I  only  know  he  was  called 
out  and  didn't  expect  to  be  gone  long. 

"Who  ?  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?  Samuel  Simonson  ? 
Captain  Simonson?  Why,  really,  Uncle  Abner,  are  we 
Southern  girls  accustomed  to  associating  with  culprits,  jail 
birds,  vagabonds,  riff-raff? 

"And  do  you  accuse  me  of  sheltering,  nay  accepting  the 
loverly  attentions,  of  Yankee  crackers  ? 

"Oh,  yes,  General,  Uncle  did  indeed  find  a  gentleman 
here;  but  is  it  not  proper  for  a  young  lady  of  twenty-odd 
summers  to  receive  visits  from  her  fiance  ?  If  not,  you  must 
speak  to  Papa,  Major  Turney,  and  to  my  fiance,  Mr.  James 
Overton,  of  Savannah,  whom  Uncle  saw  here,  and  has  mis 
taken  for  some  renegade  Yankee  cracker ;  and  with  the  rare 
delicacy  of  Southern  chivalry,  and  the  fine  breeding  and 
sense  of  honor  of  a  Southern  gentleman,  instead  of  consid 
ering  the  feelings  and  reputation  of  a  lady  who  has  the 
misfortune  to  be  his  kinswoman,  or  the  honor  of  a  gallant 
soldier  and  true  patriot,  who  also  chances  to  be  his  kinsman, 
has  proceeded,  to  the  extent  of  his  ability,  to  disgrace  me, 
and  cast  discredit  on  my  honorable  father,  by  carrying  his 
mis-report  and  salacious  scandal  to  General  Winder,  War 
den-General  of  the  Prisons  of  our  beloved  Confederacy. 

"Now  I  have  a  new  incentive  to  yield  to  the  pleadings  of 
my  fiance  for  a  speedy  consummation  of  our  engagement. 
As  Mrs.  James  Overton,  of  Savannah,  Georgia,  I  shall  not 
be  associated  so  frequently  in  people's  thoughts  with  Lieu 
tenant  Abner  Turney,  of  Richmond,  Virginia. 

"But,  gentlemen,  General  Winder  and  Lieutenant  Turney, 


490  AMERICANS  ALL 

I  pray  you  to  come  in ;  and  forgive  my  incivility  in  keeping 
you  waiting  so  long  at  the  threshold. 

"I  beseech  you  to  carefully  search  the  entire  house,  that 
both  my  revered  father,  and  my  unworthy  self,  happily  may 
be  cleared  of  the  odium  your  visit  charges  against  us." 

We  have  recorded  but  a  part  of  Elaine's  side  of  the  spir 
ited  colloquy  at  the  door.  Of  course,  she  was  talking  against 
time,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  argument,  or  for  any  impres 
sion  she  might  make  on  their  minds  regarding  her  own  or 
her  father's  guilt  or  innocence — she  was  only  parleying  until 
Simonson  could  make  good  his  escape. 

And  so  strong  and  clear  a  case  did  she  make  out,  and 
with  such  firmness  and  mien  of  injured,  nay  outraged,  inno 
cence,  they  did  not  search  the  house  at  all ;  but,  making  pro 
found  and  abject  apologies,  withdrew,  mounted  their  horses, 
and  dashed  away  into  a  new  morning  and  a  new  year — for 
the  chimes  on  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  were  just  ringing  out 

1864,  with  all  its  mingled  warp  and  woof  of  victory  and 
defeat,  shame  and  glory,  life  and  death;  and  ringing  in 

1865,  with  all  its — but  there  was  none  then  who  could  tell1 
what  the  New  Year  would  bring — only : — Judah  Philip  Ben 
jamin,  the  Jew:  the  Salathiel  of  the  Davis  Administration. 


CHAPTER  XXXHI 

FALL  OF  RICHMOND.      SIMONSON   SENTENCED  TO  DEATH 

WHEN  Elaine  had  told  General  Winder  and  Lieutenant 
Abner  that  her  father  possibly  had  gone  to  the  Ex 
ecutive  Mansion,  she  had  stated  a  very  remote  possibility; 
as  a  matter  of  fact  she  knew  he  had  intended  to  go  in  pre 
cisely  the  opposite  direction,  and  she  thanked  her  stars  for 
it,  for  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that  she  should  im 
mediately  inform  him  of  the  sudden  and  unexpected  turn 
of  affairs. 

As  Major  Turney  had  passed  out  of  the  room  he  had 
quietly  said  to  Elaine,  "Stanard."  She  knew  that  meant  Mrs. 
William  Stanard,  the  great  friend  of  Vice  President 
Stephens,  whose  residence  was  a  favorite  meeting  place, 
sort  of  Cave  of  Adullam,  of  all  haters  of  President  Davis, 
such  as  Toombs  and  Seaton,  and  opponents  of  his  ad 
ministration,  such  as  Senator  Rives  and  Representative 
Atkins.  It  was  also  the  home  during  his  brief  sojourns  in 
Richmond,  of  Vice  President  Stephens.  Major  Turney's 
wealth,  family,  social  connections,  popular  prestige  and 
known  loyalty  to  the  President,  caused  the  bitter  malcon 
tents  to  be  wary  of  him,  and  eager  to  secure  his  favor  when 
planning  moves  that  might  be  regarded  as  being,  however 
veiled  with  specious  phrases  and  protestations,  inimical  to 
President  Davis  or  his  government.  Hence  his  summons 
to  Richmond's  Cave  of  Adullam. 

Of  all  the  malcontents  none  was  as  able,  persistent,  and 
vindictive  as  Vice  President  Stephens;  for  to  intellectual 

491 


492  AMERICANS  ALL 

dissent  from  the  President's  policy  he  added  a  personal 
hatred  almost  without  a  parallel.  Indeed  he  so  hated  the 
President  he  would  have  condemned  to  eternal  obloquy  any 
governmental  policy,  even  of  his  own  origination,  had  it  re 
ceived  the  approval  of  President  Davis.  And  Vice  President 
Stephens  was  only  one  of  a  mighty  Southern  host  like- 
minded,  and  like-disposed. 

Had  the  South  been  loyal  to  itself,  and  to  her  civil  and 
military  leaders,  it  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  the  Con 
federacy  would  have  compelled  recognition  at  Washington. 
The  Southern  Government  well  might  have  pointed  its  ac 
cusing  finger  at  a  score  of  her  own  illustrious  sons  and, 
with  her  dying  gasp,  exclaimed,  "Et  tu  Stephens,  Vance, 
Brown,  Toombs,  Rhett,  Walker,  Rives,  Atkins,  Hunter, 
Yancey,  J.  E.  Johnston,  Beauregard,  Longstreet. 

The  situation  on  New  Year's  eve,  1864,  could  not  have 
been  darker  for  the  grave,  sorrowful,  but  undaunted 
President  at  Brockenborough  Mansion.  Grant  had  pressed 
on  steadily,  advancing  even  when  defeated,  was  now  be- 
leaguring  Petersburg  and,  doubtlessly,  was  going  "on  to 
Richmond";  Sherman  was  gaily  cavorting  on  to  the  sea; 
Sheridan  was  jauntily  having  "the  time  of  his  life"  wherever 
he'  might  fancy  to  go,  now  that  Early  was  disposed  of  and 
Stuart  was  dead;  Thomas  was  in  high  glee  over  his  phe 
nomenal  defeat  of  Hood  and  his  Army  at  Nashville;  the 
Alabama  and  the  Albermarle  were  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  the  Shenandoah  at  Liverpool  had  been  handed  over  by 
England  to  the  Federal  Government  at  Washington,  and  not 
a  Confederate  flag  now  was  floating  above  the  wave;  and, 
finally,  Wilmington  and  Fort  Fisher  were  in  the  death  throes 
of  impending  surrender. 

"To  consider  the  present  state  of  affairs"  Major  Turney 
had  been  requested  "to  meet  a  number  of  gentlemen  and 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  493 

true  patriots  at  the  residence  of  Mrs.  William  Stanard,"  on 
this  eventful  evening. 

Fortunately  just  as  Elaine  was  starting  out  to  warn  her 
father,  while  the  departing  General  Winder  and  his  troopers 
were  yet  in  sight,  Major  Turney  appeared. 

Rapidly  relating  to  her  father  the  essentials  of  what  had 
occurred  during  his  absence,  however  carefully  omitting 
everything  that  would  be  calculated  to  arouse  his  anger,  she 
besought  him  to  shield  the  innocent  sentinels  at  the  prison, 
see  the  President  at  once  and  put  him  in  possession  of  all  the 
facts  in  the  case — and  that  the  two  of  them  should  leave 
every  possible  loophole  open  for  Simonson's  escape. 

Despite  his  own  peril  Major  Turney  smiled  upon  his 
daughter,  gave  her  a  few  words  of  cheer,  promised  to  carry 
out  her  instructions  to  the  letter,  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
the  Prison. 

In  the  meantime  Simonson  was  beginning  one  of  the  most 
arduous,  perilous,  and  baffling  series  of  adventures  and  hair 
breadth  escapes  in  the  history  of  war — all  to  end  at  last  in 
recapture,  and  sentence  to  death.  Repeatedly  he  was  in 
sight  of  "Old  Glory,"  often  in  hearing  of  Federal  camps, 
thrice  within  the  Federal  lines  only  each  time  to  be  driven 
to  cover  by  wandering  bands  of  Confederate  cavalry,  or  by 
Confederate  pickets  set  to  watch  and  report  the  movements 
of  the  Federal  enemy. 

Like  a  chased  fox  or  hare  he  raced  to  every  point  of  the 
compass,  doubled  back  again,  climbed  trees,  hid  in  hollow 
logs,  clambered  through  bogs  and  tangled  underbrush ;  twice 
forded  the  Chickahominy,  both  times  being  thoroughly 
soaked  and  his  clothes  frozen;  whole  days  with  nothing  to 
eat  but  roots  and  berries,  dry,  hard  and  tasteless;  at  last  a 
victim  of  fever  and  ague ;  weak  from  sickness,  exposure, 
over-exertion,  and  constant  anxiety ;  trying  to  snatch  a  little 


494  AMERICANS  ALL 

sleep  and  rest  on  the  frozen  ground ;  waking  to  find  his  gar 
ments,  now  threadbare  and  tattered,  frozen  to  the  earth,  and 
himself  so  chilled  and  numb  as  to  render  it  almost  impossible 
for  him  to  arise  and  move  on. 

Once,  having  secured  some  matches  at  a  negro's  hut,  and 
feeling  that  he  was  freezing  to  death,  he  built  a  fire,  regard 
less  of  every  hazard,  in  a  small  and  secluded  hollow  in  the 
centre  of  a  dense  mass  of  cedar  trees.  The  sensation  pro 
duced  by  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  reenforced  by  intense 
fatigue  to  the  point  of  exhaustion,  caused  him  to  go  to  sleep 
immediately.  When  he  awoke  some  hours  later  he  found 
one  bootleg  and  half  his  uniform  burned  to  ashes. 

Greatly  refreshed,  though  weak,  he  doggedly  pressed  on. 
Had  it  been  two  months  later  he  would  long  since  have 
found  Federal  troops ;  but  now  their  activities  were  directed 
Southward  for  the  capture,  under  Butler  and  Porter,  of 
Port  Fisher;  while  Northward  Grant  was  idly,  though  im 
patiently,  waiting  at  City  Point  for  the  outcome  of  the  con 
ference  between  the  Federal  Government  and  the  Peace 
Commissioners  sent  by  Mr.  Davis — Vice  President  Stephens, 
Judge  Campbell,  Assistant  Secretary  of  War,  and  Senator 
R.  M.  T.  Hunter.  Hence  the  Confederates,  enjoying  a 
respite  from  Grant's  persistent  pounding,  were  ranging  the 
whole  country  with  comparative  immunity  from  peril. 

At  last  the  inevitable  happened.  Emerging  from  a  dense 
thicket  into  a  small  clearing  he  saw  himself  confronted  by 
a  vicious  looking  musket  not  ten  feet  distant,  in  the  hands 
of  a  very  resolute  "Johnny."  Instantly,  however,  the  picket 
dropped  his  gun  and  indifferently  said, 

"W'ot  thuh  hell  yo'  doin'  hyar?" 

Simonson  understood  the  situation.  The  picket,  seeing  his 
Confederate  uniform,  had  mistaken  him  for  a  brother  Con 
federate.  He  also  realized  that  now,  if  ever,  he  had  need 
of  coolness  and  presence  of  mind. 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  495 

Assuming  an  air  of  unconcern  he  replied,  "Oh,  jis  skur- 
mushin'  'roun'  uh  li'l,"  imitating  the  dialect  the  best  he 
could,  "thinkin'  Ah  mout  fin'  er  shote  er  suthin'." 

The  picket  was  not  quite  convinced.  "Whah's  yo'  corn- 
man'?" 

"Neah  'Melia  Coht  House."  Simonson  knew  there  were 
Confederate  soldiers  in  that  neighborhood ;  besides  it  was 
the  only  likely  place  he  could  think  of  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  However,  it  proved  to  be  an  unfortunate  answer. 

"See  hyar,  comerd,  yo'  stringin'  muh,  else  yer  uh  damned 
Yank.  Moh'n  twent'  miles  tuh  'Mely  Coht  House.  W'ot's 
yo'  reg'mint?" 

Simonson  was  cornered  but  he  blurted  out  the  first  thing 
that  came  to  mind  with  a  prayer  that  he  might  hit  it  right. 
But  Providence  doesn't  make  a  specialty  of  "first  aids"  to 
prevaricators,  no  matter  how  pressing  their  needs,  or  how 
noble  their  cause.  In  this  case  he  could  not  have  made  a 
worse  answer. 

"To  the  Tenth  Alabama,"  was  his  reply. 

Instantly  the  gun  was  leveled  on  him  again.  "Yo'  muh 
pris-nuh.  Move  'long.  Git !" 

Even  the  eloquence  of  a  Demosthenes  is  not  as  "moving" 
as  a  vicious  gun  in  the  hands  of  a  determined  man. 

The  decisive  action  of  the  picket  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  he,  himself,  belonged  to  the  Tenth  Alabama,  in  camp 
less  than  a  mile  away,  and  knew  this  man  did  not  belong  to 
the  famous  "Alabama  Tigers." 

Half  an  hour  later  Simonson  was  before  the  colonel  of 
the  Tenth  Alabama,  listening  to  the  proud  picket's  report. 

Having  warmly  commended  the  picket  the  officer  turned 
to  the  prisoner  and  said,  "Glad  to  meet  you  again."  Then 
turning  to  a  sergeant:  "See  that  this  spy  is  decked  out  in 
proper  regalia — handcuffs  and  anklets — and  securely 
guarded." 


496  AMEKICANS  ALL 

Appalled  at  the  situation,  Simonson  exclaimed,  "But, 
colonel,  there  must  be  some  mistake.  You — " 

"Oh,  no!  The  mistake  is  on  your  part,"  replied  the 
colonel,  with  a  laugh  that  boded  ill  for  the  captive.  "Priva 
tion  and  exposure  for,  let's  see,  this  is  the  Seventeenth,  for 
seventeen  days  have  certainly  disfigured  you  somewhat,  and, 
more  than  likely,  disturbed  your  mental  equilib. 

"Let  me  now  refresh  your  memory.  Your  true  name  is 
Samuel  Simonson.  You  were  promoted  to  a  captaincy  at 
the  Battle  of  Chickamauga.  You  were  captured  at  the 
Battle  of  Missionary  Ridge  and,  soon  after,  became  our  guest 
at  The  Lib.  Here,  through  the  interposition  of  Harold  Cul- 
pepper,  you  had  the  undeserved  good  fortune  to  be  brought 
to  the  attention  of  the  President  who,  out  of  the  goodness 
of  his  great  kind  heart,  but  in  defiance  of  all  law  and  prece 
dent,  made  you  his  guest  at  the  Executive  Mansion.  You 
were  still  farther  fortunate  in  winning  the  love  of  the  Presi 
dent's  niece,  Major  Culpepper's  sister,  through  whose  be 
witching  cozening  you  became  established  as  a  member  of 
the  President's  household. 

"During  those  eventful  days  I  was  on  duty  at  Richmond, 
had  many  conferences  with  War  Secretary  Seaton  regarding 
your  privileges,  and  often  saw  you  and  Miss  Culpepper  to 
gether. 

"Finally  Fate  grew  weary  of  toying  with  you  and  de 
cided  to  mete  out  to  you  your  just  deserts.  Miss  Culpepper 
became  disgusted  with  her  cracker  suitor,  threw  him  over 
board,  and  departed  from  the  Capitol.  Her  brother,  the 
Major,  played  his  Uncle  Jeffey  a  scurvy  trick.  Rambunc 
tious  old  Seaton  shied  his  castor  into  the  ring,  and — once 
more  you  were  properly,  very  properly,  caged. 

"Then,  somehow,  on  New  Year's  eve,  your  cussed  luck 
again  served  you  well  and,  once  more,  by  means  we  have  not 
yet  been  able  to  conjecture,  you  were  scot-free. 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  497 

*  "The  President  himself  must  have  slipped  down  and  let 
you  out. 

"However,  I'm  happy  to  meet  you,  Captain;  and  more 
than  happy  to  see  you  masquerading  in  a  Confederate  uni 
form.  Thus  arrayed,  not  even  Beauty  will  be  able  to  rush  to 
your  rescue ;  and  Washington's  example  in  dealing  with  the 
gallant  Major  Andre  will  stay  the  interfering  hand,  and 
silence  the  protesting  voice,  of  our  Don-Quixotic  President. 

"Providence  permitting  you  will  be  well  housed  tonight, 
and  receive  constant  attention ;  tomorrow  you  will  be  visited 
by  a  number  of  very  distinguished  officials  who  will  oblig 
ingly  listen  to  everything  you  may  have  to  say — incidentally 
themselves  making  a  few  very  pertinent  remarks,  all,  how 
ever,  in  a  most  courteous  manner ;  and  on  the  following  day 
at  sunrise  you  will  depart  on  a  very  long  journey'' 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Major  Turney's  position  was 
anything  but  enviable;  for  to  the  general  charge,  long 
wrathfully  made,  that  "Turney  is  too  lenient  with  Yankee 
prisoners,"  now  was  added  a  whispered  rumor  that  Lieut. 
Abner  Turney  had  actually  seen  the  escaped  man  enjoying 
the  Commandant's  hospitality,  New  Year's  eve,  at  The  Ce 
dars  ;  but  the  Commandant  had  two  staunch  and  powerful 
friends  in  the  President  and  General  Winder,  the  Warden- 
General,  and  the  President  and  Commandant  secretly  hoped 
that  Simonson  would  make  good  his  escape. 

President  Davis  was  justly  charged  with  haughtiness  and 
reticence — all  of  which  was  inherited;  but  he  was  never 
severe  on  any  one  except  himself.  Indeed  his  enemies  de 
clared  that  he  was  "chicken-hearted  in  dealing  with  Yankee 
prisoners,"  and  some  went  so  far  as  to  affirm  that  his  eleven 
years  in  the  North — New  York,  Northern  Missouri,  North 
ern  Illinois,  Iowa,  Wisconsin,  and  Minnesota — had  made  him 
disloyal  to  the  South.  Mr.  Lincoln  was  not  more  eager  to 


498  AMERICANS  ALL 

ameliorate  the  unhappy  condition  of  prisoners  of  War  than 
was  Mr.  Davis. 

Of  General  Winder,  President  Davis  declared:  "He  was 
a  man  too  brave  to  be  cruel,  too  well-bred  and  well-born  to 
be  influenced  by  low  and  sordid  motives."  And  the  Com 
mandant  possessed,  to  the  utmost,  these  two  men's  confi 
dence. 

Lieut.  Abner  Turney's  charge  that  he  had  seen,  "with 
my  own  eyes,"  Captain  Simonson  as  the  sole  guest  of  the 
beautiful  and  accomplished  Miss  Elaine  Veronica,  at  the 
Commandant's  residence  on  the  night  of  his  escape,  fell  to 
the  ground  of  its  own  weight.  It  was  so  absurd,  pre 
posterous.  Besides,  every  one  knew  of  Abner's  radicalism 
and  boundless  jealousy  of  his  cousin,  the  Commandant. 

The  Commandant  was  fortunate,  too,  in  being  absent  when 
the  Lieutenant  had  unceremoniously  ushered  himself  into 
Elaine's  and  Simonson's  presence ;  also  in  being  known  to 
have  been  at  that  precise  moment  in  consultation  with  a 
number  of  the  rabidest  and  most  vindictive  fire-eaters  at 
the  residence  of  Mrs.  William  Stanard. 

However,  it  is  not  improbable  that  public  pressure  would 
have  compelled  the  displacement  of  Major  Turney  as 
Warden  of  Libby  Prison  but  for  the  unexpected  appearance 
just  at  that  time  of  Frank  P.  Blair,  a  quasi-Peace-Com- 
missioner  from  Washington. 

For  the  first  time  it  seemed  that  the  Washington  Govern 
ment  was  holding  out  the  olive  branch  to  the  hard-pressed 
Confederacy ;  and  there  was  a  general  disposition,  suddenly 
invoked  by  the  usually  belligerent  Vice  President,  to  let 
bygones  be  bygones,  and  to  make  as  favorable  an  im 
pression  as  possible  on  the  distinguished  visitor. 

But  the  all-disturbing  occasion  of  anxiety  to  the  President 
and  Commandant — and  supremely  so  to  the  unhappy 
Elaine,  when  the  harrowing  intelligence  reached  her — was 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  499 

the  fact  that  Captain  Simonson  had  escaped  in  a  Con 
federate  uniform,  and  that  if  captured  in  said  Confederate 
uniform  he  must  be  accounted,  by  the  universal  law  and 
practice  of  nations,  a  spy,  and  sentenced  to  an  ignominious 
death.  Not  even  the  President  could  save  him.  Thus  Love, 
unwittingly,  had  placed  the  one  beloved  in  direst  peril  of  a 
shameful  death. 

Such  was  the  suspense  the  terrible  news  of  the  prisoner's 
recapture  had  in  it  an  element  of  relief;  but  when  it  was 
learned,  a  few  hours  later,  that  he  had  been  captured  in 
Confederate  uniform  Elaine's  grief  and  despair  knew  no 
bounds. 

To  her  father  who  had  brought  her  the  news  she  frankly 
said,  "I  love  him,  and  cannot  live  without  him." 

Major  Turney  knew  his  daughter  entertained  a  high  re 
gard  for  the  prisoner,  but  hitherto  had  ascribed  her  interest 
in  him  to  pity  and  compassion ;  but  now,  beyond  the  simple 
significance  of  her  emphatic  declaration,  he  noted  a  some 
thing  entirely  new  in  her  voice — the  unearthly  music  of  a 
heavenly  love. 

The  Major  was  both  disturbed  and  distressed.  It  oc 
curred  to  him  that  maybe  the  Captain  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  unusual  privileges  accorded  him  and  had  surrepti 
tiously  wooed  his  daughter,  and  inveigled  her  into  a  clan 
destine  promise  to  marry  him.  All  this  Elaine  quickly  noted. 

"Papa,  dearest,"  she  said  beseechingly,  "Captain  Simon- 
son  ever  has  been  the  soul  of  honor,  and  so  have  I;  you 
don't  doubt  me,  do  you,  Papa?  Captain  Simonson  never 
wooed  me  at  all — I  just  naturally  loved  him  from  the  very 
first ;  and  it  seems  he  couldn't  keep  from  loving  me,  too. 
And  our  love  for  each  other  is  so  sweet  and  sacred — why 
it's  just  like  a  holy  sacrament.  I  know,  dearest  Papa,  that 
it's  a  holy  love  because  there's  nothing  in  it  feverish,  or 
unrestful,  or  disturbing,  and  it's  so  satisfying.  And  it's 


500  AMERICANS  ALL 

such  a  mysterious  love.  I  don't  know  when  it  began;  it 
was  already  full-fledged  when  I  found  it — and  the  Captain 
says  the  same  regarding  his  love  for  me.  Why,  Papa,  it 
just  seems  that  our  love  for  each  other  is  as  old  as  Eternity 
and  that,  somehow,  the  hand  of  God  is  in  it." 

Deeply  distressed,  Major  Turney  besought  the  advice  and 
assistance  of  the  President.  His  daughter's  state  of  mind 
alarmed  him.  Her  mother  had  never  entirely  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  the  great  tragedy  that  had  come  to  them 
more  than  thirty  years  before — was  his  daughter  now  to 
have  her  life  blasted?  If  Captain  Simonson  were  to  be 
executed  God  alone  could  tell  what  the  effect  would  be 
on  Elaine. 

Moreover,  the  Major's  own  heart  was  enlisted  in  behalf 
of  the  ill-starred  Captain.  From  the  first  he  had  been 
strangely  drawn  to  the  manly  young  fellow.  Only  for  this, 
and  his  faith  in  his  integrity,  he  never  would  have  per 
mitted  his  daughter  to  visit  him,  at  least  unattended.  Yes, 
for  Elaine's  sake,  and  for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  he  must 
save  Captain  Simonson  from  his  impending  fate. 

Approaching  the  Executive  Mansion  he  met  Mr.  Blair, 
the  quasi-Envoy  from  Mr.  Lincoln,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Stephens.     They  had  been  in  conference  with  Mr.  Davis 
As  they  met,  Mr.  Stephens  stopped  and  said, 

"Mr.  Blair,  I  want  you  to  know  Major  Turney,  Com 
mandant  of  Libby  Prison.  Does  he  appear  to  be  the  merci 
less  persecutor  of  prisoners  he's  reputed  to  be?" 

The  two  men  cordially  shook  hands  and  indulged  in  the 
usual  compliments.  After  a  few  general  remarks,  meaning 
nothing  and  not  intended  to  mean  anything,  Mr.  Blair 
remarked, 

"By  the  way,  Stephens,  I  see  in  Pollard's  paper  that  you've 
captured  Captain  Simonson,  and  that,  being  found  in  your 
uniform,  he'll  be  accounted  a  spy." 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  501 

"Unquestionably,"  replied  Mr.  Stephens,  who  was  a  great 
lawyer. 

"And  does  that  mean  he  must  be  executed?" 

"Even  the  President,  I  mean  President  Dams,  couldn't 
save  him,"  promptly  replied  the  Vice  President.  "You  must 
know,  Mr.  Blair,  that  the  offense  of  being  a  spy  is  unpar 
donable.  You  remember  the  case  of  the  lamented  Major 
Andre." 

"Ah,  yes,  you're  right,  you're  right.  But  this'll  be  a 
great  grief  to  Lincoln.  Seems  that  Old  Abe  knows  Simon- 
son — took  a  fancy  to  him  back  in  Illinois.  Had  lost  track 
of  him — thought  he  was  with  Sherman  down  South  some 
where  till  he  read  in  the  New  York  papers  of  his  sensa 
tional  escape.  The  President,  I  mean  THE  President," 
nudging  Stephens,  "has  oodles  and  oodles  of  sentiment, 
you  know." 

The  Vice  President  was  thoughtful  a  moment.  Then: 
"We  might  defer  his  execution,  pending  our  negotiations — 
how  would  that  do?" 

"A  capital  idea,  Stephens,"  enthusiastically.  "You  see 
we've  a  ticklish  job  on  hand,  but,  my  God,  I  hope  and  pray 
we'll  be  successful.  If  you  were  to  up  and  kill  Simonson, 
when  everybody  knows  he  was  only  technically  a  spy,  it 
would  raise  a  hell  of  a  fuss  up  North;  and  Old  Abe — get 
his  back  up  and  there'll  be  no  doing  anything  with  him !" 

Major  Turney's  interview  with  the  President  was  brief. 
Mr.  Davis  could  promise  nothing.  He  liked  Blair  but  had 
no  faith  in  his  mission. 

"There'll  be  no  peace,"  he  said,  "till  we're  all  ground  to 
powder.  My  death  and  Simonson's  are  equally  inevitable 
and,"  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "I  may  beat  Simonson 
to  the  goal.  Of  course,  I  will  cooperate  with  you,  but  I 
can't  pardon  him.  Work  with  Stephens;  if  he  will  hold 


502  AMERICANS  ALL 

off  his  lieutenants  maybe  we  can  defer  Simonson's  execution 
until — the  end. 

"And,  Major,  by  the  way,  if  you  can  make  the  impression 
on  Stephens'  mind  that  you  and  I  are  at  outs,  and  that  I've 
turned  against  both  you  and  Simonson,  in  fact  that  now 
I'm  demanding  Simonson's  immediate  execution,  it  will 
help  a  lot.  For  whatever  I'm  in  favor  of  Stephens  is  ever 
lastingly  against." 

Major  Turney  received  a  telegram  late  in  the  afternoon 
stating  that  the  prisoner  was  being  placed  on  the  train  at 
Ruther's  Glen,  and  that  he  would  arrive  at  Richmond  about 
8  o'clock  that  evening. 

Accordingly  the  Major  was  at  the  North  station  when 
the  train  arrived.  There  was  grave  danger  of  mob  violence 
which,  on  account  of  Mr.  Blair's  presence  in  the  city,  and 
the  ill  effect  the  intelligence  would  have  on  the  North,  and 
on  Mr.  Lincoln,  must  be  avoided  at  all  hazards.  Though 
a  troop  of  cavalry  was  in  readiness  in  case  there  should  be 
disorder  but  happily  there  was  none,  at  least  at  the  Station. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  reached  the  Prison  that  there  was 
any  sign  of  trouble.  There  a  mob  of  the  veriest  riff-raff  had 
gathered  and  was  indulging  in  all  manner  of  vile  and 
ferocious  threats  and  epithets.  A  ,man  of  less  courage  and 
determination  would  have  retreated,  or  ordered  up  the 
military. 

All  went  well,  however,  till  they  had  almost  reached  the 
main  entrance  when  some  one  shouted,  "Shoot  the  damned 
Yankee !  Shoot  the  G —  d —  Lincoln  spy !" 

At  the  same  moment  a  revolver  was  fired,  then  pande 
monium  reigned.  The  guards  imagined  that  an  effort  was 
being  made  to  release  the  prisoner ;  Major  Turney  thought 
it  was  a  diversion,  carefully  planned,  under  cover  of  which 
to  kill  him;  while  the  mob  didn't  think  at  all — just  yelled, 
and  struggled,  and  fought  like  demons. 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  503 

Fortunately  the  cavalry  was  only  a  couple  of  blocks  dis 
tant  and  soon  were  on  the  scene,  scattering  the  mob  in 
every  direction. 

The  only  person  seriously  hurt  was  the  prisoner.  Stand 
ing  upright  and  helpless,  feet  and  hands  heavily  manacled, 
one  of  the  rear  guards  dealt  him  a  deadly  blow  on  the  head 
with  the  butt  of  his  musket.  The  wanton  act  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at  considering  the  tumult,  and  the  many  prisoners 
who,  in  various  ways,  had  succeeded  in  making  their  escape. 

Major  Turney  thought  Captain  Simonson  had  been  shot, 
not  having  seen  the  guard  deal  the  savage  blow,  and  that  he 
was  dead.  That  he  really  was  dead  could  hardly  be  dis 
puted — he  lay  so  still,  and  with  such  a  ghastly  countenance. 

Ordering  the  guards  to  immediately  remove  the  manacles 
the  Major  knelt  beside  the  prisoner,  tore  open  his  shirt  to 
discover  where  the  bullet  had  entered,  and  waved  back  the 
surging  crowd.  Only  a  moment  he  looked  and  then  ex 
claimed,  "Oh,  my  God!  my  God!" 

For  only  a  moment  he  seemed  to  have  been  stricken  with 
blindness — dazed — then  rising,  pale  and  trembling,  calmly 
ordered  the  guard  to  remove  the  prisoner  to  a  cot  in  the 
Hospital. 

"But,  Major  Turney,"  said  the  officer  of  the  guard,  "he 
was  not  shot.  See,"  putting  his  hand  on  the  prisoner's  head 
as  they  bore  him  away,  "some  one  has  dealt  him  a  blow  on 
the  head." 

Major  Turney  made  no  reply  but  followed  on  into  the 
Hospital,  summoned  the  physicians,  and  ordered  that  every 
thing  possible  be  done  for  the  comfort  of  the  prisoner. 

"Do  all  you  can  for  this  poor  boy.  I'm  afraid  that — that 
Stephens  and  Blair  will  be  sorry  to  hear  of  this — this 
damned  outrage!"  A  moment  later  he  added,  "I'm  sorry, 
too,  but  the  guard  was  not  to  blame.  I  almost  lost  my  own 
nerve." 


504  AMERICANS  ALD 

The  Commandant  retired  to  his  office  and  the  physicians 
examined  the  wound. 

"Strange  how  these  things  get  on  a  man's  nerves,"  said 
the  Old  Doctor.  "That's  the  reason — there,  keep  track  of 
his  pulse,  carefully — that's  the  reason  I'm  always  changing 
from  one  branch  of  the  service  to  another.  Was  with 
the  Chevalier  at  Antietam,  below  Hagerstown — God! 
Couldn't  stand  it.  Got  transferred  to  the  General  Hospital 
— turn  him  on  his  side,  Linvill,  there — at  Chattanooga.  Had 
to  give  it  up  there.  Too  much  moaning  and  groaning  and 
screaming;  too  many  cadavers  disfigured,  and  disjointed, 
and  abbreviated,  and  smashed!  Got  transferred — there 
nurse,  hold  back  that  tuft  of  hair — back  to  the  Chevalier 
again.  Then  along  came  that  blue-eyed  Bulldog — Butcher! 
A  week  of  the  Wilderness — you  weren't  there?  Woiu! 

"Keeping  track  of  his  heart,  Davy  Doc?  Good!  Well, 
then  His  High-Mightiness,  that's  the  Emperor  up  at  Brock- 
enborough  Castle,  took  pity  on  me — steady,  Linvill ;  say,  old 
man,  don't  believe  you've  got  any  nerves  at  all — took  pity  on 
me  and  pulled  me  up,  root  and  branch,  and  planted  me  here. 
Goshdoodlemedictum!  I  know  what's  the  matter  with  the 
Comman'.  Had  'em  myself,  nerves.  Whatafallinupstairs' 
But  wasn't  he  pale?  Geminyjane! 

"What  did  the  Comman'  say  'bout  Stephens  and — what's 
his  name?  Oh,  yes,  Blair.  I  tell  you — there,  Linvill,  turn 
him  over  and  let's  take  a  squint  at  the  other  side  of  his 
block — all  this  talk  about  peace  don't  amount  to  a  tinker's 
darn. 

"But  old  Am — that's  Herr  Mephisto,  the  Comrnan's  coz — 
hear  'bout  it  ?  So  all-fired  mad  on  'count  o'  being  sat  down 
on  so  hard  by  the  Emp  and  Warden-Gen,  and  Boss  here  he 
now  swears  that  he  did  see  this  laddybuck — there,  hold  his 
head  a  wee  mite  higher ;  guess  we'll  have  to,  hell !  that's  bad 
—at  the  Comman's  house  that  night ;  and  that  Elaine— what 


FALL  OF  HICHMOND  505 

did  you  say,  Linvill  ?  Wonder  if — Dan  Cupid  is  a  hell  of  a 
cuss  when  he  gets  started;  but  Dan  had  no  chance  there. 
But  Elaine !  Wouldn't  blame  anybody  for  going  kersmash, 
kerflummix — how's  his  pulse  ?  B'lieve  you  can  smell  a  man's 
pulse,  Dave — better  give  him  a  hype  of  strich — Oh,  yes, 
Elaine !  Danged  if  I  didn't,  old  a  codger  as  I  am,  jump  off 
the  sidewalk  and  turn  a  double-handspring  the  first  time  I 
saw  her.  She  was  coming  down  the  street  wearing  one 
of  those  fluffy  white  things,  mostly  ruffles  and  ribbons  and 
sich,  an'  carryin'  a  parasol  not  bigger'n  your  hand,  and,  oh ! 
Je-mi-mee!  But  this  poor  duffer's  a  goner!" 

The  pre-doomed  Peace  Conference  lasted  but  two  weeks, 
and  on  the  Fifth  of  February  the  Commissioners  returned 
to  Richmond — empty-handed! 

Mr.  Davis  was  not  surprised,  and  therefore  not  disap 
pointed. 

The  unhappiest  man  in  Richmond  was  the  now  thoroughly 
discredited  Vice  President.  Every  one  now  saw — what  the 
President  long  had  seen,  and  the  great  Jew  long  had  de 
clared,  even  to  his  chief — that  there  could  be  no  solution 
of  their  difficulties  except  the  utter  extinction  of  the  Govern 
ment  at  Washington,  or  the  utter  annihilation  of  the  Gov 
ernment  at  Richmond.  And  eighteen  months  before  the 
finale  del  tragedia  the  eagle-eyed  Salathiel  had  declared 
which  Government  would  be  annihilated.  But  to  the  very 
last  the  indomitable  Jew  was  supremely  loyal  to  his  great 
Chief. 

After  a  fortnight  it  was  thought  the  crisis  was  past;  but 
the  patient  was  very  weak — "not  strong  enough  to  kill,"  the 
Old  Doctor  remarked  when  some  one  mentioned  the  Court- 
Martial  that  was  being  delayed  by  his  illness. 

Heloise  Turney,  Elaine's  mother,  who  had  returned  from 


506  AMERICANS  ALL, 

Charleston,  knew  nothing  of  the  tragedy  that  had  had  its 
beginning  in  her  own  home;  or  of  that  greater  tragedy 
— love,  longing,  regret,  remorse — that  was  going  on  in  her 
daughter's  heart.  The  great  War-tragedy  was  telling  on 
her,  and  husband  and  daughter  were  keeping  the  news  of 
events  from  her  as  much  as  possible. 

Grimly  now  the  Major  went  about  his  business.  He 
had  been  blamed  so  long,  and  for  so  much,  his  endurance 
was  almost  exhausted.  The  color  was  gone  from  his  face, 
the  snap  and  fire  from  his  eyes,  and  the  elasticity  from  his 
once-strident  step.  Certainly  he  had  enough  to  try  his 
soul. 

Now  there  was  talk  of  a  general  massacre  of  the  prisoners 
— a  peril  that  was  ever  before  him;  a  horror  he  would 
prevent,  or  at  least  try  to  prevent,  even  at  the  cost  of  his 
life. 

Sherman  was  coming  from  the  South — had  already 
reached  Columbia.  Grant  was  coming  from  the  North — 
had  stationed  his  dauntless  commanders,  and  marshalled 
his  all-conquering  army,  along  the  James.  Doom  could  not 
much  longer  be  postponed.  What  wonder  there  was  con 
sternation  in  Richmond,  and  deep  and  prolonged  mutterings 
of  vengeance  against  the  Federal  prisoners? 

Such  high  hopes  had  been  raised  by  Envoy  Blair's  visit 
and  now,  in  only  two  weeks,  seemingly  all  earth  and  hell 
had  turned  against  them — and  heaven  no  longer  heard  or 
heeded  their  prayers. 

Daily  Major  Turney  saw  Simonson;  but  his  visits  were 
short,  his  words  few. 

"Something's  wrong,"  the  patient  one  day  querulously  re 
marked.  The  Old  Doctov  blurted,  "Something'  Hell  and 
damnation,  everything's  wrong !" 

The  Major  forbade  Elaine  to  visit  the  Hospital.  Elaine 
insisted.  The  Major  was  adamantine,  peremptory.  Elaine 


FALL  OF  BICHMOND  507 

was  shocked.  Never  before  had  her  father  treated  her  so 
— what  could  it  all  mean  ?  She  pressed  him  for  reasons. 

"My  God,  Elaine,"  he  exclaimed,  "will  you  break  my 
heart?  Isn't  my  word  sufficient?  Don't  you  know  the  city 
is  a  cage  of  infuriated  wild  beasts?  That  every  street  is 
thronged  with  thugs  and  assassins?  Don't  you  realize  that 
the  Enemy,  hundreds  of  thousands  strong,  is  thundering  at 
our  gates.  Haven't  I  told  you  repeatedly  that  a  double 
massacre  may  occur  at  any  moment- — both  within  and  with 
out  the  Prison  ?  Must  I  still  further  remind  you  that — " 

"O,  Papa,  Papa,"  Elaine  broke  in,  tears  streaming  down 
her  face,  "I  must  see  the  Captain,  my  Captain !  You  don't 
know  what  love  means,  or,  or  how  I  love — him!" 

"Girl!" 

There  was  something  in  his  face  and  manner  that  terrified 
her.  His  countenance  was  writhing,  and  his  whole  body 
was  convulsed.  Had  taunt  and  trial  and  torture  maddened 
her  father  ?  Was  he  being  bereft  of  reason  ?  Had  anxiety 
and  weariness  and  suffering  crazed  him?  Had  she  plunged 
the  .dagger  into  her  father's  heart? 

"Papa !"  she  screamed,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck. 
"Forgive  me!  Forgive  your  little  girl!  I  was  cruel, 
heartless,  fiendish,  to  say  such  a  thing  to  you.  To  you,  the 
dearest,  kindest,  lovingest  of  fathers.  Of  course,  you  know 
what  it  is  to  love.  Was  ever  such  love  lavished  on  woman 
as  you  have  given  in  gladdest,  richest  measure  to  poor,  dear, 
sweet  Mama,  and  your  naughty,  naughty  little  girl?  And 
we  couldn't  live  without  you.  O,  Papa,  say  that  you  forgive 
me !  And  that — " 

"Elaine  Veronica,"  he  replied,  with  a  voice  full  of  tragedy 
and  unearthly  longing,  low  and  deep,  but  inexpressibly  ten 
der,  "care  for  your  mother,  and — and  pray  for  me !" 

"But,  Papa,  what  do  you  mean?"  Elaine  was  terrified, 
shaken  to  her  profoundest  depths. 


508  AMERICANS  ALL 

Gently  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  pressing  a  kiss  on  her 
forehead,  he  slowly  and  solemnly  said, 

"My  daughter,  you're  a  Turney  and  a  Dinwiddie.  You 
know  our  combined  motto:  'Fear  Nothing,  Brave  Every 
thing,  Falter  Never.'  You  will  not  fall  short  of  your 
training  and  of  your  ancestry,  and  I — must  set  you  the 
example.  I  have  taken  a  vow;  Heaven  has  witnessed  it; 
only  my  own  soul  and  Heaven  know  what  it  is.  But  to  that 
vow  I  must  be  true,  no  matter  what  the  cost  may  be.  Some 
day  you  may  know — Possibly  I  shall  live " 

"But,  Papa — that  horrible  massacre — " 

"Hush,  Elaine !  I  know  what  you're  about  to  say.  Have 
you  so  soon  forgotten  the  teaching  of  our  blessed  Saviour? 
'Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man' — you  re 
member?  And  not  only-  have  I  to  protect  my  imperiled 
wards,  but — have  you  lorgotten  our — guest — with  whom 
we  have  eaten — salt? — with  whom — and  the  Court-Martial 
— take  care  of  your  mother " 

Elaine  found  herself  alone.  For  a  moment  everything 
seemed  to  be  blurred,  indistinct.  She  felt  dazed,  as  one 
waking  from  a  troubled  dream.  Slowly  she  collected  her 
thoughts,  putting  this,  and  that,  and  the  other  together,  and 
praying  for  strength. 

"My  papa  means  to  die;  but  I  must  not  give  way  to 
grief,"  she  said.  "I  could  see  it  in  his  face.  The  sound  of 
his  voice  brought  the  chill  of  the  sepulchre  to  my  heart.  The 
look  in  his  eyes  was  as  the  low  gleam  of  altar-lights — when 
masses  are  said  for  the  dead.  There  was  a  pathos,  holy 
unction,  in  his  manner,  as  though  a  priest  were  celebrating 
the  last  offices  for  the  dead — at  his  own  funeral.  The  low, 
sad  rhythm  of  his  speech  reminds  me  of  funeral  bells  and 
dirges,  of  vested  choirs  in  subdued  tones  chanting  misereres 
for  the  dead,  and  misericordias  for  the  sorrowing.  Faithful 
— he  means  to  die,  if  need  be,  for  the  prisoners ;  to  be  the 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  509 

first  to  meet  the  mob ;  and  the  first  to  fall  in  their  defense. 
Loyal — he  also  means  to  save  the  Captain  or  die  .  .  . 
the  Captain  ate  salt  with  us,  was  our  guest,  and  my  papa 
is  a  gentleman  and  a — hero.  'Greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this' — and  my  papa  has  this  greater  love.  And  I  up 
braided  my  papa ;  what  a  shameful  daughter  I  was !  But  he 
forgave  me,  and  I  shall  not  fail  him!  Even  though  the 
worst  happens  that  can  happen  I  shall  not  fail  my  papa! 
'Fear  Nothing,  Brave  Everything,  Falter  Never' — I  shall  be 
a  true  Turney,  and  I  shall  be  a  true  Dinwiddie!  Ah, 
Mama's  calling — and  I  shall  not  fail  my  mama!  Maybe 
I  shall  have  to  take  my  papa's  place,  and  be  to  Mama — yes, 
Mama,  I  hear  you — I'm  coming — " 

There  were  whole  days  and  nights  now  that  the  Com 
mandant  did  not  leave  the  prison,  or  sleep,  and  scarcely 
partook  of  food.  Massacres  were  planned  within  and  with 
out  the  prison,  all  alike  meaning  death  to  the  Commandant. 
Sherman  still  was  thundering  Northward,  drawing  nearer 
each  day.  Grant — oh,  if  he  only  would  let  up  one  day,  one 
hour,  a  minute  even — but  never.  Three  o'clock  a.  m. — the 
tramp  of  infantry,  the  rush  of  cavalry,  the  crash  of  riflery, 
the  thunder  of  artillery;  and  all  the  night  long  marching, 
marching,  marching.  Reports  were  coming  from  all  direc 
tions,  and  always  the  same.  Day  and  night,  everywhere — 
the  shriek  and  crash  and  rattle  and  roar  and  thunder  of 
minie  and  bomb  and  shell  and  shrapnel  and  grape  and 
canister ;  and  every  day,  every  hour,  every  minute,  approach 
ing  nearer,  nearer,  and  yet  nearer.  And  poor  Bobby  Lee 
and  his  devoted  Field-Marshals — harassed,  perplexed,  be 
wildered,  bedraggled,  and  no  chance  to  rest  or  sleep !  And 
the  brave,  brave  Boys  in  Gray,  too  weak,  weary,  hungry, 
starving,  to  any  more  raise  the  "rebel  yell" — most  of  their 
comrades  prisoners  now,  or  else  sleeping  the  long,  long  sleep 


510  AMERICANS  ALL 

that  knows  no  waking,  "in  those  green  tents  whose  doors 
never  outward  swing." 

And  Richmond,  poor  Richmond — "how  hath  the  mighty 
fallen!"  Good  Bishop  Johns  was  saying:  "My  people  are 
nearly  all  gone,  and  I'm  as  a  shepherd  bereft  of  his  flock. 
And  everywhere  such  sacrilege!  My  Episcopal  City  has 
become  a  cage  of  wild  beasts — a  pandemonium!  Such 
shocking  profanity !  Such  appalling  irreverence !  Such  an 
insatiate  fury  for  vengeance.  Heavenly  Father,  the  provo 
cation  is  great,  numberless  are  our  wrongs,  our  humiliation 
is  boundless,  our  chastisement  seems  greater  than  we  can 
bear — have  mercy  upon  us,  and  save  my  people  from  im 
piety  !  Save  them  from  deeds  of  violence !  Save  them  from 
the  wrath  that  goeth  before  destruction!" 

In  the  mad  excitement — it  was  now  the  Second  of  April — 
the  Commandant  hoped  the  peril  of  mob  violence  was  past ; 
that  hopelessness  would  awe  the  furious  malcontents  with 
out,  raging  for  vengeance  and  demanding  the  blood  of  the 
prisoners  committed  to  his  care ;  and  that  hope  would  quell 
the  turbulent  prisoners,  seeing  their  deliverance  could  not 
long  be  delayed — and  these  hopes  were  realized. 

There  was  another  hope — that  the  Court-Martial  might 
not  set  to  pass  on  the  punishment  to  be  meted  out  to  Captain 
Simonson ;  or  should  it  set,  and  sentence  of  death  be  passed, 
there  would  be  no  demand  for  its  speedy  execution — but  this 
hope  was  not  realized. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  how  it  all  came  about.  Suffi 
cient  to  say  the  action,  though  legal,  was  irregular  and 
without  precedent.  It  was  possible  only  on  account  of  the 
universal  confusion,  and  the  ignoring  of  all  rules  and  forms 
of  procedure — and  was  inspired  by  a  cruel  desire  for  re 
venge.  Thwarted  in  the  one  great  enterprise  upon  which 
they  had  embarked,  they  would  centre  all  wrath  and  fury 
on  a  single  individual,  and  by  one  single  act  decLre  and 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  511 

illustrate  their  irreconcilable  hatred  and  their  insatiate  thirst 
for  vengeance. 

The  members  of  the  Court-Martial  appeared  at  the  Prison 
without  previous  announcement,  entered  without  invitation, 
and,  without  ceremony,  summoned  Commandant  and  alleged 
spy. 

The  questions  asked  were  purely  perfunctory — as  their 
verdict  was  predetermined,  and  the  sentence  fixed. 

The  accused  entered  no  defense — he  knew  it  would  be 
useless  to  do  so;  and  the  Commandant  received,  without 
comment,  his  instructions  to  execute  the  death  penalty, 
within  the  Prison,  at  8  o'clock  the  following  morning. 

It  was  all  very  formal,  very  precise,  and,  in  form  and 
expression,  technically  legal  to  the  very  letter. 

Late  that  night  the  Commandant,  not  having  been  home 
now  for  upwards  of  forty-eight  hours,  wrote  a  long  letter 
to  his  daughter,  Elaine  Veronica.  Having  read  it  he  tore 
it  up.  He  then  wrote  another,  read  it,  added  some  things, 
and  made  a  good  many  erasures,  and  a  few  verbal  changes. 
He  then  re-wrote  it,  re-read  it  and,  being  satisfied,  enclosed 
it  in  an  envelope  and  addressed  it  to  his  daughter,  adding, 
just  beneath  the  address,  "Not  to  be  opened  until  8  a.  m., 
April  3d,"  and  sent  it  by  carrier  to  his  residence. 

It  was  now  past  midnight.  He  left  his  office  and  went 
to  one  of  the  cages.  The  prisoner  was  awake  and  greeted 
him  with  unusual  cheeriness. 

"Would  the  prisoner  like  a  priest  or  minister?" 

"No — the  prisoner  has  already  prepared  for  death." 

"Would  he  like  to  have  a  Bible?" 

"No — he  already  knows  enough  of  it  to  give  him  the 
needed  strength  and  consolation." 

"Is  the  prisoner  afraid  to  die?" 

"No — neither  on  battlefield,  nor  within  prison  walls," 


512  AMERICANS  ALL. 

"Does  he — he  blame  the  Commandant,  or  feel  any  resent 
ment  against  him  ?" 

"Blame  the  Commandant  ?  No !  A  thousand  times,  No ! 
It  is  easier  to  love  the  Commandant  as  a  worthy  son  loves 
an  honorable  father — as  Elaine  loves  her  father.  Forgive 
the  prisoner  if  he  is  over-bold,  but  the  Commandant  well 
knows,  sir,  that  the  prisoner  already  is  legally  dead,  as  in 
a  few  hours,  alas,  he  will  be  actually  dead — for  such  a 
father  as  Elaine's,  sir,  the  prisoner  would  rejoice  to  die,  if 
need  be,  to  save  the  beloved  Commandant's  life,  or  to  pro 
mote  his  happiness  and  well-being!" 

"You  are  to  die  in  the  great  room  out  here." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  shall  be  with  you  at  the  last." 

"I  thank  you,  sir.  It  will  be  easier  to  die  if  I  know  that 
you  are  near  me,  even  though  my  eyes  are  bound  and  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  see  you." 

"Good-night,  Captain  Simonson." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Commandant." 

The  prisoner  reflected  that,  ordinarily,  he  would  better 
snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep,  but  now — what  matter? 

Besides,  how  good  and  kind  the  Commandant!  It  was 
pleasant  to  think  of  him.  He  could  not  think  of  another 
man,  he  did  not  believe  there  was  another  man  in  all  the 
world  quite  the  equal  of  the  Commandant;  and  he  said  so 
— to  himself. 

And  the  Commandant's  wife — Heloise !  Strange  he  never 
should  have  seen  her.  What  could  have  been  the  tragedy 
that  had  shut  her  in?  Physical?  Not  that.  "Our  Heloise 
is  so  well  today,"  how  often  he  had  heard  them  say!  "Our 
Heloise" — always  it  was  "Our  Heloise !"  What  sweet,  gen 
tle,  gracious,  pathetic  proprietorship!  "Our  Heloise" — 
gathered  flowers,  ferns,  autumn-leaves  today.  "Our  Heloise" 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  513 

— would  like  to  be,  to  have,  to  go.  No  matter;  it  must 
always  be  according  to  the  desire  of  "Our  Heloise." 

Only  one  thing  biographical,  explanatory,  or  descriptive 
could  the  Captain  recall.  It  was  when  Elaine,  with  a  haunt 
ing  pathos,  had  said,  "My  dear,  sweet  mama  has  never 

been  quite  the  same  since "  but  even  the  single  sentence 

was  not  completed. 

Sometimes  a  pictured  face  haunts  us:  "Beatrice,"  "La 
Fornarina,"  "The  Sorrowing  Magdalen;"  sometimes  a 
name:  "Brunehilde,"  as  Winkelman  used  to  pronounce  it; 
"Juliet,"  as  pronounced  by  Edwin  Booth;  "Desdemona,"  as 
Salvini  alone  could  utter  it. 

So  to  the  Captain  there  came  to  be  a  magic  in  "Our 
Heloise,"  and  in  the  picture  of  her  he  had  seen  that  New 
Year's  eve. 

He  wished  he  might  say,  "Our  Heloise,"  as  the  Major  so 
devoutly  pronounced  it,  as  Elaine  so  tenderly  phrased  it — 
and  with  the  same  sense  of  ownership.  Well,  maybe  in 
the  next  world,  now  close  at  hand — 

But  how  could  he  think  of  the  Commandant,  and  "Our 
Heloise,"  without  also  thinking  of 

Elaine  Veronica?    Elaine 

She  would  have  come  to  see  him  but  her  father 

And  the  Commandant  was  right.  The  Commandant  al 
ways  was  right.  Who  could  find  fault  with  him? 

The  Commandant  was  going  to  be  with  him  at  the — and 
see  him — and  that  would  be  such  a  satisfaction,  comfort. 

Would  he  give  the  final  order  to  the  firing  squad? — he 
hoped  not.  Still  if  he  did — if  he — did — it  would  be  all — 
right.  But 

Elaine  Veronica — She  had  obeyed  her  father,  yet  she  had 
visited  him,  the  prisoner. 

It  was  on  an  April  evening.  There  had  been  a  sudden 
lilt  of  song — the  chanson,  just  a  fragment  of  it,  she  had 


514  AMERICANS  ALL 

sung  that  night — and  a  rose  had  fallen  at  his  feet:  flung 
from  the  street  through  the  bars  of  the  tiny  window  of  the 
basement  cell,  when  the  sentry's  back  was  turned.  She 
had  brought  him  a  kiss  on  the  petal  of  a  rose.  But  sweet 
as  was  the  rose  it  was  infinitely  less  sweet  than  the  rosebud 
lips  that  but  a  moment  before  had  passionately  pressed  each 
petal. 

\  Elaine — no,  he  would  not  see  her  again — now.  But  be 
yond  the  skies  and  beyond  the  stars,  in  the  great  BEYOND 
— ah,  it  would  be  sweet  then — Nor  would  there  be  aught  of 
opposition,  for  even  here  her  father  loved  him.  And  Simon- 
son  recalled  Shakespeare's  lines : 

"Her  father  loved  me ;  oft  invited  me ; 
Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  to  year;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
That  I  have  passed." 

— but  the  day  is  dawning— I — wonder 

Monday,  April  Third,  dawned  on  a  gray  and  cheerless 
city:  President,  Vice-President,  and  Cabinet  gone;  Con 
gress  gone;  Judiciary  gone;  wealth  and  fashion  all  gone; 
children  all  gone — only  a  handful  of  Confederate  soldiers 
left  to  quell  riots,  fight  incendiary  fires,  and  as  far  as  pos 
sible  put  a  quietus  on  public  massacre  and  private  assassi 
nation;  all  the  rest,  too  few  to  be  of  much  avail  to  their 
idolized  but  dying  Cause,  had  gone  to  be  chased  like  quail 
and  rabbit  from  cover  to  cover,  till  finally  bagged  by  the 
Mighty  Appomattox  Hunter — yet  truer,  braver,  nobler  men 
never  fought  at  Marathon,  Thermopylae,  or  Balaklava,  at 
Bunker  Hill,  Concord,  or  Brandywine,  and — "when  can  their 
glory  fade?" 

And  the  Mighty  Appomattox  Hunter  himself  was  at  last 
to  say  at  Mt.  McGregor,  in  the  chill  of  the  deepening  dusk 
of  the  eternal  night,  speaking  of  all  the  gray-clad  host,  all 


TALL  OP  RICHMOND  515 

the  way  from  Belmont  to  Appomattox,  that  had  proven 
themselves  worthy  of  his  most  relentless  steel,  "Yes,  they 
were  conscientious,  all  of  them — I  never  doubted  it." 

And  the  conscientious  man:  he  may  be  killed,  but  never 
conquered.  "The  Guard  dies,  but  never  surrenders." 

But  there  was  no  time  for  theatricals  or  embroidered 
formalities  this  Monday  morning  in  Richmond — now  for 
twelve  hours  not  the  Confederate  Capitol,  and  for  more 
than  an  hour  a  Federal  City — for  at  this  precise  moment, 
Monday  morning,  April  Third,  General  Weitzel  was  hoist 
ing  the  Stars  and  Stripes  over  the  Capitol,  though  the  news 
had  not  yet  reached  Libby  Prison,  or  the  suburbs  of  the 
city — so  suddenly,  and  without  sound  of  arms,  had  the  Blue 
Coats  appeared  and  taken  possession.  Richmond  had  fallen. 

It  lacked  but  a  minute  of  8  o'clock  when  Vice-Command 
ant  Sanderson  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  death-cell  with 
five  soldiers.  Sanderson  was  a  fierce  hater  of  the  North. 
His  plantation  had  been  laid  waste,  and  two  of  his  brothers 
had  been  killed  at  Spottsylvania. 

"A  pleasant  duty  has  been  deputed  to  me  by  the  Com 
mandant,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  world  of  secret  satisfaction 
in  his  voice.  "I'm  to  have  the  honor,  sir,  of  escorting  you 
to  a  certain — ah — function,  and  of — ah — conducting  the — 
er — ceremonies." 

The  condemned  man  made  no  reply.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  said. 

It  required  less  than  a  minute  to  pass  from  the  Carey 
Street  side  of  the  cellar — used  for  an  additional  dining- 
room  after  the  Seven  Days  Battle  of  the  Wilderness — to 
the  Dock  Street  side  where  the  "ceremonies"  were  to  be 
conducted. 

The  firing  squad  was  ready. 


516  AMERICANS  ALL 

Major  Turney  appeared  in  a  moment,  calm  but  very  pale. 
Sanderson  had  hoped  the  Commandant  would  not  be  pres 
ent  ;  he  wanted  all  the  glory,  and  sweet  satisfaction  for  him 
self — and  this  might  be  his  last  chance.  Turning  to  Simon- 
son,  he  said : 

"Would  the  prisoner  like  to  speak  ?" 

"No." 

"Has  the  Commandant  anything  to  say — any  suggestion?" 

The  Commandant  shook  his  head,  only  taking  the  pris 
oner's  hand  a  moment. 

The  prisoner's  eyes  now  were  bandaged. 

"A  moment,  Sanderson,"  said  the  Commandant.  "Is  it 
necessary  that  the  prisoner's  hands  and  feet  be  manacled?" 

"Certainly,  Major  Turney." 

"I  think  you're  mistaken,  Mr.  Vice-Commandant." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Major ;  but  I'm  not  mistaken.  Here's 
the  printed  rules  and  regulations  that  obtain " 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Vice-Commandant,"  said  Major  Tur 
ney,  now  very  stern  and  resolute.  "I  take  the  responsibility 
and,  as  your  superior  officer,  suggest  that  you  have  all  evi 
dence  that  he  is  a  prisoner,  about  to  be  executed  for  a 
crime,  removed — only  you  may  leave  the  bandage  over  his 
eyes." 

Grudgingly  the  prisoner's  hands  and  feet  were  unman- 
acled. 

As  this  was  being  done  there  came  the  noise  of  a  wild 
commotion  overhead,  in  the  Upper  and  Lower  Chickamauga 
Rooms — then  the  whole  building  seemed  to  shake.  Major 
Turney's  first  thought  was  of  the  long-expected  massacre 
of  the  sentinels  by  the  prisoners,  but  as  the  tumult  in  a 
moment  subsided  the  peril  passed  from  his  mind. 

Then  came  the  sound  of  many  feet,  the  measured  tread 
of  soldiers,  apparently  coming  down  Twentieth  Street  and 
turning  east  on  Dock  Street — but  that  couldn't  be  the  long 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  517 

anticipated  mob  from  without  to  wreak  vengeance  on  the 
Federal  prisoners ;  possibly  it  was  a  regiment  that  had  been 
detached  from  the  fortification  defenses  and  was  being  hur 
ried  on  to  reen  force  Lee  at  Appomattox  Creek. 

"No  time  to  be  lost!"  shouted  Sanderson,  for  the  com 
motion,  both  within  and  without,  now  was  approaching  the 
volume  and  violence  of  a  tumult — though  strangely  unlike 
the  Richmond  tumults  of  former  days. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  waiting  for  the  pre 
arranged  signal  to  fire.  The  unfettered  prisoner  stood  statu 
esque,  though  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  hear  his  own 
heart  beating.  The  Commandant  was  very  near,  at  elbow 
touch. 

Then  in  quick  succession  came  the  three  pre-arranged 
signals,  but  they  were  given  with  such  rapidity  it  seemed 
there  was  but  one — and  that  execution  and  order  were 
simultaneous. 

But  what  had  happened  ?  Not  the  prisoner,  but  the  Com 
mandant  himself  was  reeling,  apparently  in  the  throes  of 
death — and  but  for  the  strong  and  ready  arms  of  the  unhurt 
prisoner  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor. 

Even  the  firing  squad  could  not  explain  it.  They  only 
knew  that  at  the  instant  they  had  fired  a  body  had  come 
between  them  and  the  prisoner;  and  the  next  instant  they 
had  seen,  to  their  horror,  that  their  beloved  Commandant, 
just  at  the  crucial  moment,  had  flung  himself  before  the 
condemned  young  man,  and  had  received  in  his  own  body 
the  bullet  that  had  been  aimed  at  the  prisoner's  heart. 

But  in  a  moment  every  lip  was  sealed.  Thundering  down 
from  the  Chickamauga  Rooms,  and  from  the  Gettysburg 
Room,  came  the  joy-wild  prisoners,  and  in  from  the  street 
came  pouring  the  Boys  in  Blue,  of  General  Weitzel's  Com 
mand,  proudly  bearing  aloft  "Old  Glory." 

In  the  tremendous  excitement  the  awful  tragedy,  for  a 


518  AMERICANS  ALL, 

moment,  was  forgotten;  and  Captain  Simonson,  laying  the 
wounded  Commandant  on  the  floor,  between  sobs  exclaimed, 

"Oh,  Commandant,  my  dear,  dear  Commandant!  Oh, 
why  have  you  done  this  thing?  Why  have  you  so  wronged 
yourself?  Why  have  you  given  your  life  for  me?  Why- — " 

Faintly  breathing,  but  looking  up  into  the  prisoner's  face 
with  an  ineffable  smile,  the  Commandant  whispered,  "Be 
cause  I  am  your  father." 

There  are  times  in  our  lives  when,  for  a  moment,  words 
lose  all  their  vital  force  and  meaning.  We  hear  them,  but 
are  so  dazed  or  obsessed  they  make  no  impression  on  our 
minds. 

Thus  it  was  with  Captain  Simonson.  He  was  so  horri 
fied  at  the  Commandant's  act — horrified  for  the  Command 
ant  himself,  his  wife,  Elaine — that  the  Commandant's  be 
wildering  declaration,  with  its  infinite,  soul-staggering  sig 
nificance,  for  the  moment  was  entirely  excluded  from  his 
mind. 

But  when  at  last  he  did  grasp  it,  instead  of  amazement  at 
the  revelation,  he  was  the  more  amazed  that,  from  the  be 
ginning,  he  had  not  understood  it  all.  Ah,  yes — it  all  came 
to  him  now.  This  was  the  explanation  of  his  filial  affection 
for  the  Commandant,  the  emotion  experienced  when,  on 
New  Year's  eve,  he  had  looked  upon  Benvenuto's  "Our 
Heloise,"  and  his  unspeakably-precious,  utterly-unsensual 
love  for  his  ever-adorable  Elaine  Veronica. 

The  next  moment,  however,  two  women  hastily  entered 
the  low-ceiled,  gloomy,  crowded  room.  Instinctively  the 
chivalrous  soldiers  knew  that,  whatever  their  mission,  Love 
had  brought  them  and,  with  true  soldierly  chivalry,  opened 
a  way  for  them  to  pass. 

Captain  Simonson  was  busily  ministering  to  the  stricken 
Commandant,  but  arose  when  he  saw  Elaine,  and  evidently 
her  mother,  approaching. 


FALL  OF  RICHMOND  619 

"We  understand,"  Elaine  said,  with  deep  emotion.  "Papa 
wrote  it  all  and  sent  it  to  me  last  night — though  we  have 
just  read  it." 

Then  simply:  "Mama,  dear,  this  is  your  long-lost 
Tancred." 

And  to  the  Captain :  "This  is  Our  Heloise,  your's  and 
mine. 

"I  am  your  sister,  Elaine  Veronica. 

"You  are  Tancred  Sebastian  Turney,  my  hero-brother." 

"Our  Heloise,"  with  a  bewildered  but  heavenly  look  in 
her  eyes,  and  Elaine,  now  were  kneeling  beside  the  prostrate 
Commandant ;  and  Tancred  knelt  with  his  mother  and  sister, 
beside  his  father. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY.       WEDDING  BELLS.       A  NIGHT  IN  PARIS 

IT  was  the  old,  old  story  of  a  thwarted  lover's  hatred  of 
the  successful  suitor,  and  the  jealous  malignity  of  a 
woman  of  sin,  all  culminating  in  one  of  the  most  dastardly 
of  crimes — the  abduction  of  an  innocent  mother's  idolized 
babe. 

In  the  great  ante-bellum  days  when  South  Carolina  had 
more  taxable  property  than  Massachusetts;  and  the  bank 
clearings  of  Charleston  exceeded  those  of  Boston,  Phila 
delphia,  or  New  Orleans ;  and  the  society  of  Charleston  was 
famous  around  the  world  for  its  elegance  and  splendor ; 
and  John  C.  Calhoun,  of  South  Carolina,  was  Vice-Presi 
dent,  and  the  Nation's  brainiest  and,  after  Webster,  most 
eloquent  statesmen;  perhaps  the  three  richest  and  most  in 
fluential  families  of  the  renowned  Commonwealth  were  the 
Dinwiddies,  Turneys,  and  Simonsons.  The  men  of  these 
families  were  bankers,  merchant-princes,  and  publicists ;  and 
the  women,  usually  educated  in  Paris,  were  famed  for  their 
culture,  refinement,  and  extraordinary  beauty. 

When  Heloise  Dinwiddie  returned  home  from  Paris,  after 
the  completion  of  her  education  in  that  city,  she  was  imme 
diately  acclaimed  the  "Belle  of  Charleston" — indeed  of  the 
entire  South. 

There  were  many  reasons  why  she  should  enjoy  this  rare 
preeminence.  Her  beauty  was  of  the  rarest  and  most  ex 
quisite  type ;  her  bearing  and  manner  were  commanding  yet 
gentle  and  gracious;  she  was  a  fluent  linguist,  brilliant 

520 


SOLUTION  OP  MYSTERY  521 

conversationist,  and  accomplished  musician.  Paternally  she 
was  the  granddaughter  of  that  Baron  Esterhazy  Dinwiddie 
who  was  one  of  the  great  Napoleon's  Field-Marshals  at 
Waterloo,  and  daughter  of  Abercrombie  Dinwiddie,  banker 
and  United  States  Senator;  maternally  she  was  the  grand 
daughter  of  Honore  Monteagle,  who  had  come  over  with 
Lafayette  and  helped  Washington  to  achieve  American  In 
dependence,  and  the  daughter  of  Pierre  Monteagle,  also  a 
banker,  and  once  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth. 

Of  course,  Heloise  Dinwiddie  had  many  suitors — it  could 
not  have  been  otherwise;  and  of  course  the  lists  presently 
were  narrowed  down  to  two  suitors,  Thomas  P.  Turney 
and  Abraham  Simonson.  And  this  could  hardly  have  been 
different  for  the  Turney  and  Simonson  families  were,  after 
the  Dinwiddies,  the  wealthiest  and  most  distinguished  of 
the  many  notable  Charleston  families. 

It  soon  was  evident,  however,  that  Turney  was  the  fa 
vored  suitor,  and  that  Simonson's  attentions  were  accepted 
only  as  a  matter  of  courtesy.  But  when  Heloise  learned, 
on  indisputable  authority,  that  Simonson  had  a  shameful 
liaison  with  a  certain  notorious  Madge  Brigley,  she  had  her 
father  inform  him  that  his  presence  at  the  Dinwiddie  Man 
sion  was  no  longer  permissible ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  made 
it  known  to  would-be  hostesses  that  she  would  accept  hospi 
tality  at  no  house  where  Abraham  Simonson  was  to  be  a 
guest.  As  a  result,  so  distinguished  and  influential  were  the 
Dinwiddies,  in  a  short  time  Simonson  was  socially  ostracised. 

Very  naturally,  considering  his  character  and  manner  of 
life,  Simonson  now  became  even  more  dissipated,  and 
charged  his  downfall  to  his  successful  rival.  In  this  he 
was  entirely  mistaken ;  but  he  refused  to  believe  otherwise 
even  after  Heloise's  father,  and  a  detective  whom  he  had 
employed  to  ascertain  the  habits  and  associations  of  his 


522  AMERICA!**  ALL 

daughter's  suitor,  had  obtained  an  interview  with  the  furious 
young  man  and  taken  the  blame  wholly  on  themselves. 

Presently  Mr.  Thomas  P.  Turney  and  Miss  Heloise  Din- 
widdie  were  married.  It  was,  in  keeping  with  the  distinc 
tion  of  both  families,  a  brilliant  wedding;  and,  as  the  Din- 
widdies  were  Roman  Catholics,  the  mass  was  said  at  the 
Cathedral,  with  the  venerable  Bishop  of  the  Diocese  as  the 
celebrant. 

Of  course,  Abraham  Simonson  was  not  among  the  in 
vited  guests ;  but  as  the  bridal  party  came  out  of  the  Cathe 
dral  the  rejected  suitor  and  Madge  Brigley,  arrayed  as 
bride  and  bridegroom,  including  veil  and  orange  blossoms, 
were  driven  slowly  by — intent  upon  making  a  spectacle  of 
themselves,  and  expressing  contempt  for  the  high  contract 
ing  parties. 

None  thought  that  Simonson  and  Madge  Brigley  really 
were  married.  That  was  incredible ;  it  was  only  a  disgusting 
masquerade.  But  the  next  edition  of  the  Mercury  informed 
them  to  the  contrary.  In  space  paid  for  by  Simonson  ap 
peared  a  shrieking  account,  written  by  Simonson  himself, 
of  the  "celebration  of  the  nuptial  ceremony  by  the  Hon. 
Dennis  Monahon,  our  worthy  J.  P."  etc.,  etc.,  and  also 
pictures  of  the  "happy  pair." 

Matters  with  Simonson  now  went  rapidly  from  bad  to 
worse,  and  from  occasional  libations  he  proceeded  to  pro 
longed  orgies.  All  this  very  naturally  had  a  deteriorating 
effect  on  his  still  beautiful,  though  discredited,  wife,  and 
she  more  and  more  shared  with  him  his  carousals.  But 
for  the  high  esteem  in  which  Samuel  Simonson,  his  father, 
was  held,  often  they  would  have  been  arrested,  or  even  ex 
pelled  from  the  city,  so  outrageous  became  their  conduct. 

Of  course,  Simonson  was  untrue  to  his  wife — such  men 
always  are,  and,  of  course,  his  wife  was  intensely  jealous 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  523 

of  him — such  women,  knowing  men  as  they  do,  always  are 
jealous  of  their  husbands. 

By  this  time  Heloise  had  become  a  beautiful  matron — the 
mother  of  two  children.  Simonson's  wife  had  not  become  a 
mother;  and  Simonson,  not  respecting  his  wife,  and  realiz 
ing  at  last  how  uncrossable  was  the  gulf  between  himself 
and  Heloise,  in  desperation  yielded  to  his  old  passion  for 
Heloise,  and  tried  to  resume  his  former  cordial  relations 
with  Turney — and,  of  course,  without  success. 

Spurned  on  every  hand  and  beholding  the  immeasurable 
happiness  of  his  rival,  wedded  to  the  woman  he  had  hoped 
to  wed,  and  she  now  the  mother  of  a  son  and  daughter  by 
him,  he  next  became  obsessed  by  a  raging  desire  for  re 
venge — if  he  could  not  be  as  happy  as  they  were,  then  he 
wanted  them  to  be  as  miserable  as  he  was ;  and  more  so  if 
possible. 

This  latter  ignoble  passion  was  shared  by  Madge  Simon- 
son — against  the  wife  because  her  beauty,  virtue,  and  ma 
tronly  superiority  made  her  a  constant  menace;  against  the 
husband  because  as  Madge  Brigley  she  had  tried  to  inveigle 
him  into  her  net  and  he  had  repulsed  and  rebuked  her. 

However,  hatred  and  plottings  for  vengeance  were  pres 
ently  abated  for  a  season  when  a  great  sorrow  came  to  the 
Turneys.  Letitia  Amora,  their  eldest  child,  suddenly  died, 
and  the  other  child,  named  Tancred  Sebastian — Tancred. 
for  the  valiant  Catholic  Crusader,  and  Sebastian,  for  the 
priest  who  had  confirmed  Heloise — was  known  to  be  sick 
unto  death. 

All  remedies  had  failed,  and  the  physicians  had  frankly 
confessed  that  they  could  offer  no  hope.  In  this  awful  ex 
tremity  the  young  mother,  in  anguish  of  soul,  conceived 
the  idea  that  the  loss  of  her  precious  little  daughter,  and 
the  pending  loss  of  her  bonnie  baby  boy,  were  a  curse  sent 


524  AMERICANS  ALL 

on  her  for  some  unknowingly-committed,  but  unforgiven, 
sin. 

The  longer  she  thought  of  it  the  more  firmly  convinced 
she  became  that  she  was  not  mistaken — and  that  the  only 
way  she  could  hope  to  save  her  babe,  not  yet  a  year  old, 
was,  in  some  way,  to  propitiate  God,  and  thus  obtain  for 
giveness,  and  the  help  of  heaven. 

She  was  in  a  desperate  frame  of  mind  and  immediately 
sent  for  Father  Sebastian.  The  maid  brought  back  word 
that  Father  Sebastian  was  attending  a  retreat  at  Columbia, 
and  would  not  return 'for  several  days. 

She  dismissed  her  maid  and  sat  alone,  holding  the  little 
sufferer  on  her  lap.  He  was  so  weak,  and  his  breathing 
was  so  difficult,  she  thought  she  would  saturate  his  breast 
with  alcohol,  having  heard  that  alcohol  was  good  in  such 
cases.  This  done  she  continued  to  stroke  the  little  breast 
gently.  Presently  she  thought  that  possibly  baby  would  take 
nourishment — but  no. 

All  the  while  she  was  thinking  of  penance,  and  how  she 
might  propitiate  the  wrath  of  heaven.  Like  a  flash  a  thought 
came  to  her — it  seemed  an  inspiration.  And  it  was  such  a 
beautiful  thought.  Ah,  heaven  be  praised  for  the  sugges 
tion  !  God  could  not  fail  to  yield  to  such  a  severe,  yet  loving 
exhibition  of  her  contrition.  She  would  do  it.  She  would 
heat  a  cross  and  hold  it,  red-hot,  against  her  breast  until 
she  would  forever  wear  upon  her  bosom,  over  her  very 
heart,  the  symbol  of  the  Saviour's  dying  passion. 

She  almost  laughed  aloud — it  was  such  a  beautiful 
thought!  And  there  could  not  fail  to  be  merit  in  such  an 
act  of  extreme  contrition  and  devotion. 

A  small  iron  cross  lay  beside  her  on  the  dresser;  and  a 
wax  candle  was  burning.  It  would  not  be  necessary  even 
to  get  up — it  must  be  providential. 

Seizing  the  iron  cross  between  the  prongs  of  a  candle- 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  525 

snuffer  she  held  it  in  the  flame  of  the  burning  candle.  In 
a  moment  it  was  spitting  out  little  jets  of  hissing  fire.  It 
was  very  hot,  and  she  was  glad  of  it.  True,  it  would  hurt 
terribly,  but  so  much  greater  the  merit  to  be  derived.  It 
would  also  make  an  ineffaceable  scar — but  it  would  be  the 
shape  of  the  Saviour's  Cross,  and  that  was  the  most  beau 
tiful  symbol  in  the  world. 

With  the  raptured  look  of  a  martyr,  and  a  devout  prayer 
in  her  heart,  she  lifted  toward  her  naked  breast  the  now 
seethingly  hot  cross,  when  her  hand  trembled  from  excite 
ment,  her  fingers  relaxed,  and,  in  a  moment,  the  flaming 
cross  had  fallen  and  was  eating  its  way  into  the  naked, 
alcohol-saturated  breast  of  the  child. 

Fortunately,  for  both  mother  and  child,  the  husband  and 
the  maid  that  instant  came  into  the  room. 

Horrified  at  what  she  had  done  the  mother  fainted  in  her 
husband's  arms,  and  the  maid  bore  the  suffering  babe  to 
another  part  of  the  house. 

The  babe's  injuries,  though  severe,  yielded  to  prompt 
treatment — though  the  deep  and  ineffaceable  scar,  so  coveted 
by  the  mother,  thenceforward  was  borne  on  baby's  breast — 
and  presently  the  babe  recovered. 

A  little  later  the  Black  Hawk  War  broke  out  and  Jeffer 
son  Davis,  between  whom  and  many  of  the  leading  Charles 
ton  families,  including  the  Turneys,  a  lively  friendship  ex 
isted,  invited  young  Turney  to  "come  to  the  boundless 
Northwest  and  do  his  duty  as  a  Patriot,"  with  the  assur- 
jnce  that  "the  brush  with  the  Indians  would  be  brief,  but 
jxceedingly  interesting." 

Happily,  now,  there  was  nothing  to  detain  him.  His 
family  was  well,  his  fortune  was  ample,  and  his  love  of 
adventure  in  general,  and  for  Jefferson  Davis  in  particular, 
was  boundless. 

But  the  Simonsons'  fury  against  the  Turneys  had  now 


526  AMERICANS  ALL 

revived,  and  their  passion  to  avenge  their  fancied  injuries 
and  insults  had  become  greater  than  ever. 

The  kidnaping  of  Tancred,  the  infant  son,  was  really  an 
afterthought  on  the  part  of  Simonson,  but  once  proposed 
his  childless  wife  instantly  acquiesced ;  perhaps  not  so  much 
to  wreak  vengeance  on  the  Turneys  as  to  obtain  a  stronger 
hold  on  her  wayward  husband — and,  possibly,  out  of  a 
sort  of  dumb,  subconscious  sex-longing  for  offspring. 

Samuel  Simonson,  whose  name  the  kidnaped  babe  was 
destined  to  bear  many  years,  had  now  been  dead  more  than 
a  year,  having  left  a  smaller  fortune  than  he  was  reputed 
to  possess;  indeed,  but  for  the  happy  chance  of  selling  all 
the  realty  possessed  by  the  elder  Simonson,  the  estate  would 
have  been  insolvent — all  of  which  was  due  to  the  prodigal 
recklessness  and  extravagance  of  his  son. 

Now  that  "Abe"  was  unable  to  live  at  his  accustomed 
break-neck  pace,  he  resolved  to  leave  Charleston.  So  ob 
sessed,  too,  had  he  become  with  the  idea  that  he  had  been 
wronged  by  Heloise  and  her  husband — in  fact  it  had  be 
come  a  mania  with  him — his  only  regret  at  leaving  his 
boyhood  home,  and  the  familiar  scenes  of  his  youth,  was 
that  with  him  gone  the  Turneys  would  be  safe  from  all 
harm  and  free  to  enjoy  the  happiness  he  felt,  of  right,  be 
longed  to  him. 

But  if  he  could  kidnap  the  baby — their  only  child !  With 
thoughts  of  satisfied  vengeance  there  now  seemed  to  come 
a  sort  of  consolation :  having  Heloise's  baby  he  would  have 
somewhat  of  Heloise — and,  in  his  very  unworthy  way,  he 
had  really  been  deeply  in  love  with  Heloise  Dinwiddie. 

A  roving  band  of  gipsies  agreed  to  kidnap  the  babe,  and 
deliver  the  little  fellow  at  Natchez  three  months  later,  for 
$500  in  gold.  This  arrangement  would  enable  him,  Simon- 
son  concluded,  to  escape  both  peril  and  suspicion,  and  to 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTEBY  587 

leisurely  take  his  departure.  As  to  his  final  destination  he 
did  not  know  or  care. 

The  gipsies  carried  out  their  part  of  the  contract ;  Heloise 
Turney  never  wholly  recovered  from  the  blow  until,  in 
Libby  Prison,  her  son  was  restored;  and  "Abe"  Simonson 
and  his  wife,  ever  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  in  dissipation 
and  degradation,  with  their  pitiful  but  precocious  kidnaped 
baby,  became  outcasts  and  vagabonds. 

They  named  him  Samuel,  somewhat  out  of  reverence  for 
his  alleged  grandfather,  but  mainly  as  proof,  circumstantial 
indeed,  that  he  was  their  son.  They  taught  him  to  call  St. 
Joseph,  Missouri,  the  city  of  his  nativity.  It  was  the  first 
town  they  chanced  to  think  of,  and  would  answer  as  well 
as  any  city — besides  it  would  be  easy  for  the  child  to  remem 
ber  and  pronounce. 

The  flaming  cross,  so  deeply  burned  into  his  flesh,  wa* 
their  greatest  source  of  fear  and  anxiety  regarding  his  dis 
covery  and  recovery,  and  their  punishment — as  it  did,  as 
we  have  seen,  finally  enable  the  father  to  identify  his  son. 

Major  Turney  did  not  die  from  the  injury  received  the 
last  morning  in  Libby  Prison;  and,  thanks  to  the  best  of 
nursing  and  the  most  loving  care,  by  midsummer  he  had 
entirely  recovered. 

One  of  the  last  acts  of  the  Martyred  President  was  to 
write,  on  "Samuel  Simonson's"  immediate  application,  a 
full  and  unconditional  pardon  for  Major  Thomas  P.  Turney 
— a  paper  framed  with  loving  care  and  now  occupying  the 
place  of  honor  in  Tancred  Sebastian's  home. 

Very  sweet  and  very  wonderful  were  the  summer  days 
of  '65.  Heloise  Turney  was  at  last  herself  again;  Captain 
Tancred  Sebastian  Turney — they  continued  to  call  him  "The 
Captain,"  and  often  proudly  added,  "Our  Yankee  Captain, 


528  AMERICANS  ALL 

you  know" — no  longer  had  occasion  to  blush  for  his  par 
ents,  or  to  deplore  his  lack  of  an  honorable  ancestry;  and 
Tancred  and  Elaine  found  that  their  love  was,  indeed,  sacred 
— as  in  the  days  of  their  strange  "courtship"  they  had  so 
often  declared  it  to  be,  easily — we  venture  to  use  the  word 
blissfully— changing  from  loverly  lovers  to  what  seemed 
an  even  more  rapturous  relation :  that  of  being  the  loverliest 
of  brothers  and  sisters. 

"Only,"  the  divine  Elaine  one  day  wistfully  said,  "hasn't 
my  brother  any  sweetheart  at  all  ?  It  doesn't  matter  so  much 
for  me ;  for  I,  dear,  don't  at  all  mind  being  a  widow,  since 
I  have  the  noblest  and  handsomest  brother  in  the  world." 

Then  the  Captain  told  his  sister  all  about  Marjorie. 

Once  more  it  was  autumn — and  not  even  the  Vallom- 
brosan  Vale  is  more  beautiful  than  Southern  Illinois  in  the 
fulness  of  autumn-tide. 

A  traveler,  henceforth  to  be  known  as  Captain  Tancred 
Sebastian  Turney,  once  more  was  returning  to  New  Rich 
mond  over  the  familiar  Enochsburg  Road — but  now  a  rich 
man,  a  member  of  a  renowned  family,  with  a  fame  that 
was  a  surprise  even  to  himself. 

But  there  was  no  feeling  of  elation;  it  was  rather  an 
emotion  of  tender  melancholy.  Here  he  had  formed  the 
sweetest  friendships  of  his  life:  Judge  Gildersleeve,  "the 
dear  old  Judge,"  as  he  ever  called  him,  "only  second  to  his 
dear  father";  noble  John  R.  Noss;  brave  and  enthusiastic 
Cornelius  Blavey;  Wilhelm  Sanderson,  Brigadier-General 
by  brevet,  soon  to  enter  Congress,  and  to  fail  of  the  Senate 
by  a  single  vote;  Heinrich  Vatson,  brave  as  the  bravest, 
noble  as  the  noblest ;  rugged  and  uncompromising  Amsden 
Armentrout,  dear  old  Ams,  still  damning  the  Southern  Con 
federacy;  the  money-loving,  money-grubbing,  semi-Copper 
head  ;  the  conceited,  but  not  wholly  reprobate,  Voe  Bijaw ; 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  539 

the  illiterate  but  big-hearted  Nic  Tutwiler  and  Ham  Sin 
gleton — ah,  well,  and  the  Frothingays,  and  Grants,  and  Lev- 
erings,  and  the  many  professional  men  and  tradespeople. 

He  drove  to  the  hotel,  but  no  one  recognized  him.  On 
inquiry  regarding  a  certain  "Samuel  Simonson,"  he  learned 
that  he  was  dead. 

"Yep,"  said  Nic  Tutwiler,  "shot  deown  lak  uh  dawg  in 
Lib.  Gut  no  moh'n  'e  'sarved,  Ah  raickon." 

"Yep;  ol'  Frothy's  dead,  un  th'  fambly's  gun."  On  and 
on,  as  Southern  Illinois  people  will  gossip,  with  friend  and 
stranger  alike. 

"Yep ;  Vergie  Culpaipuh's  mahr'd — sploiced  en  Pahrse,  er 
some  udder  durned  seapoht.  Mahr'd  thuh  dad-gummed 
ohnury  li'l  runt,  Poppunjay,  er  Pahlfy,  er  suthin'  lak  dat." 

Visions  came  of  a  night  at  The  Elms,  of  the  buckthorn 
tree,  of  many  a  gallop  and  ramble  across  the  fields  and  hills, 
of  tete-a-tetes  where  roses  and  honeysuckles  were  tjie  only 
witnesses — but  there  were  no  regrets. 

"Yep;  ol'  Doc's  gun  ovuh  thuh  pon',  bu's  comun'  baick; 
tuh  mony  freog-laigs,  Ah  raickun." 

"Jedge  Gil,  d'yuh  saiy?  Hol'un  Co'ht  sum's  evuh  deown 
ut — fuhgit  whah  neow." 

"Har'ld  Culpaipuh  ?  Sho !  Mahr'd  big  uz  Pompey.  Liv'n' 
en  Sain'  L'u's.  Gut  keids — twuns.  Wat  d'  yuh  t'ink  uh 
thut?" 

To  himself  Simonson  said:     "Marjorie — twins — Harold 


After  supper  he  went  out  for  a  walk.  No  one  on  the 
street  recognized  him.  He  wended  his  way  toward  The 
Maples.  It  would  be  some  comfort  to  see  where  Marjorie 
used  to  live;  ah,  yes,  and  a  certain  night — where  she  had 
called  to  him  and 

He  went  in  and  walked  with  bowed  head  toward  the 
house.  Half-way  he  met  a  woman — Marjorie.  Counting 


530  AMERICANS  ALL 

on  her  inability  to  recognize  him,  and  dreading  to  meet 
Mrs.  Harold  Culpepper,  he  merely  bowed,  and,  trying  to 
disguise  his  voice,  hoarsely  said,  "Good-evening." 

That  was  all.  But  the  next  moment  she  was  holding  his 
hands  and  saying,  "Is  that  the  only  greeting  you  have  for 
me?" 

Still  striving  hard  to  control  himself:  "I'm — I'm  de 
lighted  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Culpepper." 

"Why — why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr. — I  don't  know  what 
to  call  you  now,"  still  pressing  a  little  closer.  "But  I'm 
not  Mrs.  Culpepper."  There  was  almost  a  sob  in  her  voice. 
"If  I'm  ever  anybody,  save — save  Marjorie  Gildersleeve,  it 
must  be " 

There  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  her  unfinished  sen 
tence;  a  meaning,  too,  that  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"Marjorie,  my  darling!"  Simonson  exclaimed,  "do  you 
mean  it?  Oh,  can  it  be  true?  Are  you  still  the — Marjorie 
I  used  to  know — just  the  same  dear,  dear  Marjorie?  And 
will  you  be — be  mine?" 

"Oh,  no,  Mr. — Captain — Baron — or  whatever  it  is,  I  'will' 
not,  because  I  have  always  been  yours,  ever  since  that — that 
first  night,  and — and  two  other  nights!  Oh,  aren't  you 
ashamed  of  me?" 

"Ashamed  of  you,  darling?    O  Marjorie " 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock — and  nine  o'clock  is  dreadfully 
late  in  Southern  Illinois  where  the  people  often  retire  be 
fore  sundown — before  they  thought  of  going  in  the  house. 
And  even  then  they  would  not  have  thought  of  it  if  Mar- 
jorie's  mother  had  not  come  to  the  door  and  quietly,  very 
quietly,  said,  "Marjorie,  dear?" 

"But  how  could  you  doubt  me,  Sammy? — you  must  let 
me  call  you  that  occasionally — when  I  always  just  showed 
you,  right  out  loud,  that  you  were  all  the  world  to  me?" 
They  were  now  alone  in  the  parlor. 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  531 

"But,  Harold !  I  knew  you  were  engaged  to  him ;  and 
when  he  took  French  leave  and  returned  to  New  Richmond, 
and  in  a  few  days  I  heard  he  had  become  a  benedict,  the 
only  conclusion  I  could  come  to  was  that  he  had — had " 

''Yes ;  I  understand,  Tancred — how  funny  that  sounds, 
but  I  already  like  it — that  he  had  married  the  woman  to 
whom  he  was  engaged.  And  he  did  marry  the  woman  to 
whom  he  was  then  engaged ;  but  it  was  not — well,  the  party 
of  whom  you  were  thinking." 

"But  you  were  engaged  to  Harold." 

"Only  a  school-play  affair,  dearest.  Why,  do  you  know, 
I  never  kissed  Harold  in  my  life,  nor  did  I  ever  permit  him 
to  kiss  me;  you  see,  I  was  saving  all  my  kisses  for — for 
somebody  else.  And  the  first  and  only  man  that  ever  held 
me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me  was  a — a  certain  bold  Cru 
sader — let's  call  him — um — say  Tancred — and  I  had  to — to 
almost  make  him.  And  when  he  did  it  I  was  so — so  mad  at 
him,  I  just — just  gave  him  kiss  for  kiss,  and  squeeze  for 
squeeze 

"But,  dearest,"  she  continued  presently,  now  more  soberly, 
"I  am  awfully  afraid  your  great  French- South-Carolinian 
family  will  not  look  with  favor  on  your  little  Southern 
Illinois  sweetheart." 

"Southern  Illinois  sweetheart!"  Tancred  exclaimed. 
"Why,  the  dearest,  sweetest,  loveliest  girls  in  all  God's 
great,  wide,  wide  world  are  to  be  found  right  here  in  good 
old  Southern  Illinois." 

"O-o-h !"  with  a  saucy  smile ;  "are  you  now  thinking  of — 
of  Vergie?" 

Of  course  that  had  to  come,  sooner  or  later,  for  Mar- 
jorie,  though  altogether  divine,  was,  also,  just  a  little 
human;  but  in  a  moment  she  was  saying,  very  soberly  and 
very  reverently:  "I  wouldn't  blame  you  a  bit,  Tancred; 


532  AMERICANS  ALL 

for  Vergie  is  the  purest,  sweetest,  most  beautiful  girl  I 
ever  saw." 

"Then,  sweetheart,"  proudly  replied  the  Captain,  "you 
never  saw — yourself!" 

Two  years  later  all  Paris  was  wild  with  excitement.  That 
rarest  of  rare  things  had  happened:  the  simultaneous  ap 
pearance,  without  forewarning,  of  an  epochal  drama  and 
of  a  phenomenal  actress — an  actress  combining  in  her 
self  such  a  wealth  of  beauty  and  genius  as  to  mark  an  era 
in  French  art,  and  a  play  in  which  the  wonderful  actress 
was  acting  a  double  part,  as  in  after  years  she  set  the  fashion 
of  playing  both  Hermione  and  Perdita  in  "A  Winter's  Tale." 

It  was  an  American  play,  of  the  late  great  war  between 
the  States — so  far  trite  enough.  But  this  play  was  so  unique 
in  conception,  so  genuinely  and  thrillingly  dramatic,  so 
heart-gripping  and  all-compelling,  so  crowded  with  puz 
zling  situations  and  utterly  unanticipated  denouements,  and 
withal  was  so  happy  and  yet  entirely  natural  in  its  tre 
mendous  final  act  as  to  constitute,  as  the  Figaro  editorially 
remarked,  "an  epoch  in  dramatic  literature;  a  play  that  is 
historically  accurate;  that  is  true  to  the  most  searching 
psychology  of  both  head  and  heart;  in  which,  though  it 
abounds  with  passages  of  torrential  passion,  there  is  not  a 
single  salacious  line  or  prurient  suggestion ;  and,  finally — 
and  the  Figaro  wishes  to  specially  note  and  emphasize  this 
point — no  demimonde  or  hardened  criminal  appears,  and  no 
member  of  the  cast  has  occasion  for  blush  or  regret." 

The  new  actress,  whom  the  same  great  editor  charac 
terized  as  "the  epitome  of  all  histrionic  art,"  was  the  petite, 
girlish  Zarrah  Mernhardt ;  the  playwright  was  unknown. 

One  night  at  the  Paris  Grande  early  comers  observed 
that  the  two  most  conspicuous  boxes,  usually  reserved  for 
royalty,  were  decked  in  festal  state — one  in  particular. 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  533 

This  special  one  the  management  had  decorated  with  a 
profusion  of  flowers  and  artistically  draped  French  and 
American  flags.  There  were  also  prominently  displayed 
large  pictures  of  the  great  Napoleon  and  of  Abraham  Lin 
coln — two  faces  especially  dear  to  the  French  public. 

In  the  evening  edition  of  the  Figaro  of  the  same  day 
there  was  a  very  complimentary  reference  to  a  distinguished 
descendant  of  the  great  Baron  Esterhazy  Dinwiddie — that 
Baron  Dinwiddie  who  had  been  one  of  the  bravest  and  most 
devoted  of  Napoleon's  field  marshals  at  Waterloo — and  an 
announcement  that  this  distinguished  descendant  of  an  illus 
trious  sire  would  witness  the  great  American  play  that 
evening.  It  was  also  noted  that  in  honor  of  the  presence 
of  Baron  Dinwiddie's  American  descendant  the  Emperor 
and  Empress  would  grace  the  occasion  with  their  presence. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Thomas  P.  Turney,  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Tancred  Sebastian  Turney,  Mr.  Fred  Gildersleeve,  brother 
of  the  younger  Mrs.  Turney,  and  Miss  Elaine  Veronica 
Turney,  Major  Turney 's  daughter  and  Captain  Turney's 
sister,  all  of  whom  had  been  touring  Egypt,  Palestine, 
and  Europe,  arrived  at  the  Ritz  just  in  time  to  dress  for 
the  evening  performance,  for  which  from  Brussels  that 
morning  they  had  ordered  a  box  by  wire.  Fortunately,  they 
had  dined  en  route,  though  they  had  not  seen  the  evening 
papers. 

Judge  of  their  amazement  when  they  were  conducted  to 
a  gaily-decorated  box,  the  one  opposite  the  box  reserved 
for  royalty,  and  found  themselves  the  focal  point  of  every 
eye,  and  of  a  multitude  of  lorgnettes  and  opera-glasses.  A 
moment  later,  however,  the  Emperor  and  Empress  entered, 
the  curtain  rose,  and  the  prologue  was  being  spoken. 

As  the  play  progressed,  interest  deepened  into  astonish 
ment,  and  astonishment  into  wonder.  The  occupants  of  the 
Turney  box  knew  they  were  to  see  an  American  play,  but — 


534  AMERICANS  ALL 

this  was  a  replica  of  their  own  lives ;  of  course,  it  was  to  be 
of  the  great  American  War,  but — in  the  very  first  scene  of 
the  first  act  there  was  a  reproduction  of  Judge  Gildersleeve's 
residence  at  New  Richmond,  and  the  play  told  the  story  of 
the  two  evenings  there  when  a  certain  young  lawyer  and 
the  Judge's  daughter  were  learning  that  sweetest  truth 
known  to  the  human  heart,  and  closing  with  the  passionate 
double  parting,  at  door  and  gate,  of  the  two  lovers,  love- 
conquered  but  speechless — and  the  make-up  of  the  girlish 
Mernhardt  made  her  to  appear  as  the  identical  Marjorie  of 
the  story.  The  original  Marjorie  herself  sat  only  a  few 
feet  away  and  looked,  with  wide-eyed  wonder,  at  the  per 
fect  and  exquisite  reproduction  of  herself;  nor  were  the 
other  members  of  the  Turney  party  less  astonished. 

"Tancred,"  whispered  the  blushing  young  wife,  "who 
could  have  written  this  play?  And  really  was  it — did  we 
act  that  way?"  Then,  bending  low  and  scarcely  breathing: 
"But  it  was  glorious,  wasn't  it?" 

But  now,  in  the  second  act,  there  was  a  change — Mern 
hardt  had  become  the  darkly  bewilderingly  beautiful,  pas 
sionate,  untamed,  all-demanding,  all-taking,  sense-quicken 
ing,  sense-maddening,  but  always  chaste  and  honorable 
Queen  of  Hearts,  "who  always  had  her  way" — and  with 
what  a  wild,  intense,  sinuous,  tempestuous  manner,  with  a 
thousand  almost  irresistible  little  allurements,  Mernhardt 
acted  the  part!  It  was  an  unforgettable  prophecy  of  how 
one  day  she  was  to  play  the  part  of  Sapho — but  now  there 
was  naught  to  offend:  she  was  as  a  young  woman,  glo 
riously  beautiful,  intensely  vital,  boundlessly  loving  and  in 
love,  with  the  utter  abandon  of  innocence  and  ignorance  of 
peril. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  act  there  was  the  inevitable  call 
for  the  author,  in  this  case  doubly  inevitable  because  care 
fully  planned  beforehand  by  the  management ;  who,  know- 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  535 

ing  the  author's  dislike  of  personal  notice,  also  knew  that 
nothing  short  of  a  veritable  tornado  of  insistence  would 
move  him  to  respond — and  the  tornado  was  not  lacking;  at 
the  height  of  which  the  "Divine  Zarrah"  herself  left  the 
stage  and  proceeded  to  the — Turney  box ! 

At  last  the  perfectly  guarded  secret  was  out.  The  author 
— the  next  day  the  Figaro  hailed  him  as  the  "Immortal 
Author" — was  none  other  than  Captain  Tancred  Sebastian 
Turney,  maternal  great-grandson  of  Field-Marshal  Baron 
Esterhazy  Dinwiddie. 

When  at  last,  after  much  persuasion,  the  author  appeared 
on  the  brilliantly-lighted  stage,  escorted  by  Mernhardt, 
whom  Paris  already  adored,  the  Emperor  and  Empress  arose 
in  their  box — the  whole  audience  rising  with  them — a  mam 
moth  American  flag  was  suddenly  lowered,  the  great  or 
chestra  broke  out  with  the  martial  strains  of  "Hail  Colum 
bia,"  and  the  applause  and  waving  of  handkerchiefs  sur 
passed  anything  Paris  had  witnessed  "since  Napoleon's 
return  from  Elba." 

After  the  third  act,  "The  Immortal  Author,"  to  quote 
once  more  from  the  Figaro,  "and  his  party  were  conducted 
to  the  Emperor's  box,  and  were  duly  presented  to  Their 
Majesties;  after  which,  returning  to  their  own  box,  they 
were  visited  by  many  titled  and  famous  people." 

Among  others  came  Monsieur  and  Madame  Felix  Pal 
frey,  now  residing  in  Paris.  Monsieur  Felix  was  prema 
turely  faded  and  wrinkled;  but  Madame  Vergie  was  more 
brilliant  and  dazzling  than  ever. 

During  a  moment's  aside  she  said  to  "Baron  Tancred," 
as  she  persisted  in  calling  the  former  "Samuel  Simonson," 
"I  have  concluded  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  had  I 
not  always  had  my  own  way,"  laughing  very  gaily  and 
debonairly. 


536  AMERICANS  ALL 

That  night  after  the  Turneys,  a  very  happy  party,  had 
returned  to  the  Ritz — save  Fred  Gildersleeve  and  Elaine 
Veronica,  who  had  been  borne  away  for  an  hour  to  some 
sort  of  a  function  at  the  Tuileries  by  the  gallant  old  Marquis 
de  St.  Vilaire,  whom  they  had  met  the  previous  season 
both  at  Cairo  and  at  Karnak,  and  his  dashing  daughter 
Gabrielle,  the  young  Duchess  de  Levigne — and  Tancred  and 
Marjorie  had  retired  to  their  room  in  the  "Turney- 
Gildersleeve  Suite,"  Major  Turney  drew  "Our  Heloise" 
upon  his  lap  and,  giving  her  a  fond  caress,  said : 

"Darling,  I  never  before  saw  you  as  beautiful  as  you 
are  to-night." 

"Nor  half  as  happy,  husband  dear.  O,  Thomas,  what  a 
glorious  son  we  have — and  what  an  adorable  daughter  he 
has  given  to  us !  Dear  Marjorie,  I  already  love  her  as  I 
love  our  own  Elaine.  And  what  a  high-minded,  honorable 
fellow  Marjorie's  brother  Fred  is — and  handsome,  too,  as  is 
our  own  noble  Tancred.  May  my  loving  Heavenly  Father 
forgive  me  for  so  adoring  our  precious  boy !" 

Just  then  a  low  ripple  of  girlish  laughter,  very  sweet  and 
tender,  yet  with  a  luring  lilt  of  gentle  sauciness  and  teasing 
running  through  it,  and  a  pleading,  earnest,  manly  expostu 
lation  were  wafted,  perfume-laden,  from  the  terrace  on 
which  their  suite  opened  and  from  the  far  side  of  which 
came,  ever  and  anon,  sounds  of  revelry  mingled  with  the 
pulsing,  sense-quickening  strains  of  Strauss,  Schubert  and 
Cherubini. 

"Ah,  Elaine,  dearest,  if  you  but  knew — could  I  but  tell 
you — would  you  but  hear  me,  take  me  seriously " 

They  passed  on,  and  their  voices  were  lost  in  the  crescendo 
strains  of  music  and  merry-making. 

"Why,  Husband,  'twas  Fred  and  Elaine  we  heard,  pass 
ing  our  window  on  the  terrace.  Do  you  think  Fred  is 


SOLUTION  OF  MYSTERY  537 

really ?     And  our  darling  Elaine ?     I  wonder 

Oh,  I  should  be  so  glad  if " 

"Sweetheart  mine,  my  own  precious  Heloise,  the  good 
God  who  has  spared  to  us  the  sweetest  and  dearest  of  daugh 
ters,  given  to  us  the  sweetest  and  dearest  of  daughters-in- 
love,  dear,  dear  Marjorie,  and,  after  so  many  years,  has 
restored  to  us  our  incomparable  Tancred,  will  care  not  only 
for  Elaine,  but  also  for  Tancred  and  Marjorie — for  all  of 
us.  You  remember  the  .Good  Book  says  that  He  cares  for 
each  blade  of  grass,  each  petal  of  the  humblest  flower,  and 
that  not  a  sparrow  falleth  without  His  notice." 

"Ah,  yes,  dearest  husband,  we  can  trust  Him.  But  I  am 
so  happy,  so  happy  since  Tancred's  come — and  dear  Mar 
jorie — and  the  war  is  over,  and  you  and  Elaine  are  ever  with 
me,  even  yet  I  tremble  lest  I  shall  wake  and  find  it  all  only 
a  dream.  But — yes,  we  can  trust  Him!" 


